Ninjamanji
by Donnie-o
Summary: Without realizing it, Master Splinter sends the young turtles age 12 on a journey that would require them to either learn to work together, or never make it back alive, when they discover a game calling them by the sound of a drumbeat...
1. Prologue

_Author's Note: _This one is long overdue, plotbunny from one of Tristripe's pieces of fanart. It depicted Raphael and Leonardo leaning over the game Jumanji, and looking like they wanted to play it. I thought it would be a cool setting!

Enjoy!

_Disclaimer: _I don't own Jumanji the game or the movie, although I have decided to possibly use some scenarios and some kewlio rhymes from them. Also I don't own TMNT, although I really wish I did sometimes.

_**Prologue**_

His eyes flicked open, his acute hearing picking up a strange sound. At first, he thought his boys were up again. Preparing to assume the role of the frighteningly stern father, flipping through several speeches in his mind that he could use to send his young sons scurrying back to their beds with utmost haste, he swiftly tied his sash around his robe, and opened his door.

The ruckus did not stop as he'd expected it would, and he did not see small darting shadows fleeing back to their room. All was dark, and still. When he opened the doors to his sons' room, he noted that they were safely tucked in their beds, their slumber untroubled by the strange noise.

Still the odd sound continued. Pausing for a moment, Splinter studied the noise. It sounded as though it were distant, and cacophonous, pounding—like drumming, almost.

Splinter did not know where this peculiar echo could be coming from, and could not decide if it would pose any kind of a threat to his family. It did not sound like construction, as sometimes occurred down in the sewers. There would be voices accompanying the sound of jackhammers, handsaws, and electric screwdrivers. Besides which, the 'drumming' sound felt more rhythmic and constant than the irregularity of construction noises.

Splinter was almost reminded of tribal drumming, such as what he'd seen on a show that his son Michelangelo had been watching.

Yet Master Splinter felt sure that there could be no possibility of any tribal community inhabiting the sewers of New York.

In the end, the aged rat felt that—although he would do some investigation in the morning—no imminent danger was apparent. He should try to get some sleep. With this resolved in his mind, he retired to his bedroom once again, lying down in his bed, and pulling the covers up to his shoulders.

Despite what he'd concluded, somehow Splinter could not shake the feeling of impending peril. Yet, slowly he felt his mind clear, and he fell asleep with distant drumming echoing in his ears.

Drumming.

Drumming.

Drumming.


	2. A Good Incentive

_**Chapter One - A Good Incentive**_

Splinter's eyelids slowly opened, obediently rising at six A.M. sharp, just as they had been trained to do over the years, bringing their owner to consciousness. After stretching, yawning, and tying his ever-present robe about him, Splinter shuffled off to the kitchen to start a hot pot of tea, thinking through his lesson plan for his sons' training session that morning.

As he put the tea in the pot to steep, Splinter reflected on his young sons' progress through the years. At twelve years of age since their mutation, they were no longer the clumsy, ill-disciplined toddlers they had once been. And although they were still children, Master Splinter glowed with fatherly pride at the distance they had traveled on their already unique journey to adulthood. They could wield weapons with proficiency—though they still had quite a few years to go before they could even be considered to be masters with any sort of weapon—and they were becoming quite agile in hand to hand combat. Just yesterday, Splinter had seen Leonardo execute a throw almost flawlessly, while his air born sparring partner Donatello had landed well, unflustered by the throw, not allowing his focus to be lost.

The teapot began to sing its shrill song. Lifting it off the burner of the stove, Master Splinter poured himself a steaming cup of the golden-brown brew, blowing and sipping on it. He took the cup with him to arouse his sons from their sleep.

Gently he opened the door to their room, the hinges squealing in protest. Master Splinter stepped inside, hearing only his sons' gentle snoring—when something on the ground bit his foot! Master Splinter nearly jumped out of his skin, gasping in surprise, and barely avoiding spilling his tea, quickly removing his victimized foot from the ground, and stepping backwards. His other foot landed on something gooey and sticky. Feeling slightly sickened, Master Splinter concluded that it would be best to remain where he was, and avoid any other unfortunate catastrophes. He left his foot in the gooey, sticky substance, and used his walking stick to switch on the overhead light.

Instant cries of protest, mumbling, and groaning met his ears. However, Splinter was too busy with what met his eyes to notice. The scene before him could aptly be described as tornado-trashed. It was a disheveled dumpster of toys, blankets, comic books, garbage, moldy crusts of pizza, indeterminate bits and pieces of what could have been destroyed board game items, scattered articles of what little clothing they had, with four turtles buried somewhere in the midst of it all. Splinter couldn't even see the beds for the mounds of junk piled up everywhere. It seemed they had pulled out everything that they owned from drawers, closets, and shelves, and had flung them about the room. Splinter discovered that what had bit his foot was really a stray jack he'd stepped on that had been separated from the game of jacks that he'd brought home for Michelangelo. What his other foot had stepped in remained nameless, and indescribable, save for the fact that it was food, and that it had gone to waste. It absolutely stunned him. This room had been clean just yesterday morning! How could four small turtles cause such a mess in such short of a time?

_This is reminiscent of a war-zone._ He thought, trying to envision what game it was they had been playing last night.

Splinter's four sons slowly peeped out from under their twisted covers, squinting open one bleary eye each at their Sensei. They noticed that he had one foot in the leftover piece of banana that Raphael had been too distracted to finish eating, one cup of untouched tea in one hand, and an extremely displeased expression on his face.

"S-Sensei…" mumbled a sleepy Leonardo, "What is it?" He shielded his eyes from the harsh electric light above him.

Michelangelo, assuming that their sensei was just coming in to wake them up for practice, merely groaned and slammed his pillow over his head. This did not help Splinter with his quickly deteriorating mood. Raphael mumbled something incoherent, and rolled over, one arm flung over his eyes. Donatello rubbed his eyes sleepily, attempting to sit up.

"My sons," Splinter managed at last, his tone stern, and his words measured. "You will be up, and in my room in five minutes."

"Hai, Sensei," came a subdued chorus of voices in reply.

With a dignified shake of his foot, to remove the appalling substance from the bottom of it, Splinter turned around, and walked out of the door, toward his own bedroom. He carefully sipped his tea, formulating what he wished to tell his pupils upon their arrival.

Leonardo was the first to get up. Once he was up, he realized the reason for Splinter's look of disapproval. He'd forgotten—the room was a disaster! They'd built a bunch of forts and roads out of all the blankets and clothes that they had, playing Humans vs. Ninjas. Michelangelo and Leonardo had been the humans, toting toy guns, and jacks to throw for bullets, while Donatello and Raphael had been the Ninjas, sneaking around the forts, and staying off the roads. They were going to clean it up before they went to sleep, but young Leonardo hadn't known that sleep often catches you by surprise once you sit down on a warm squishy bed, and pull covers around you. He sighed, and looked at his brothers, still trying to wake up enough to move, "Well guys, guess we'd better get up and go to Splinter's room."

All he received were more groans from Raphael and Michelangelo, but Donatello sat up in his bed, stretching his arms. He too surveyed the room, and felt his shoulders drop. They were in some serious trouble!

Leonardo shook Raph's shoulders, and said, "C'mon Raph, we don't wanna get in more trouble than we already are."

The only thing he got back in reply was a shove. "Lemmealone…" A slurring voice said irritably.

Donatello stood, putting on his purple mask, rubbed his sleepy eyes, and yawning. Then he followed Leonardo's initiative, and shook Michelangelo. In return, he got bapped in the face with Mikey's pillow.

"Hey!" Donatello cried out in protest, batting the pillow away, with one hand, and dragging his reluctant younger brother out from under his nice warm covers with the other.

"Aw, Don!" Mikey whined, looking pathetically tired, and dramatically shielding his poor eyes from the 'sun.'

"C'mon Mikey, you heard Splinter." Donatello said, no sympathy in his voice. He was just as tired as Michelangelo.

Leonardo was still trying to pry Raphael out of bed, but Raph had both hands clinging to either side of his mattress, and nothing short of a major natural disaster would make him let go. Never mind that Leonardo had already yanked off his blanket, and taken the pillow away when he tried to use it to block out the overhead light.

"Raph, let go!" Leonardo ordered, trying to pull him off the bed by his ankles.

The mattress slid off the bed, taking Raphael and Leonardo down with it.

Raph quickly grabbed a stray blanket from the mess of their floor, and threw it over himself. "I ain't goin' nowhere."

Leonardo stood up then, panting and glaring at Raphael with frustration. He had his hands on his hips.

"Raph, you're already awake. You may as well get up. We're gonna get in trouble."

"Don't care."

Michelangelo was up, and had his mask tied firmly around his head. He might as well have been sleepwalking, because his eyes were still closed, and he leaned heavily against the side of a cold sewer wall.

"Dude, I am so tired." He croaked. He looked as bedraggled as a zombie.

"Guys, we have maybe a minute left." Donatello had begun inching toward the door. He didn't like making Master Splinter angry.

Michelangelo and Leonardo both turned to look at their brother still huddled beneath the blanket, doing his best to ignore everyone and get back to his dream world. "Raph!" They both shouted in unison.

He flinched underneath the covers, and then finally poked his head out. "All right, all _right!_ I'm comin,' keep your shells on." He sat up, rubbing a muzzy eye, and blindly reaching for his mask. Once he'd successfully lain his hands on the red mask, and tied it around his eyes, he stood, stretched once, and yawned.

"C'mon!" Donatello said, getting antsy.

Raphael merely glared at his brother, as if to say, "Don't rush me, brain-boy."

Once he'd 'sufficiently' awakened, the four young turtles darted to their sensei's room at a rather high velocity. Leonardo knocked timidly at the door.

"Come in, my sons." A calm voice answered.

The four turtles glanced shiftily at one another, swallowing nervously. Then, Leonardo pushed open the sliding door, and the four of them shuffled inside. They stood in a line in front of their master, who knelt on the floor. He looked at them for a few silent moments, watching as they squirmed under his gaze. They looked tired. What had they been doing last night?

He sighed. "My sons, I am disappointed."

Leonardo tried to explain, "See Sensei, we were just—"

Splinter held up a hand, "I do not need an explanation, Leonardo." He looked at the four of them, sleepily trying not to yawn. "I was hoping that the four of you had learned to treat our home with more respect than that; that you had learned more discipline than what you four boys have just shown, leaving our home in the state that it is in."

They hung their heads, not wanting to look him in his eyes.

Inwardly, Splinter felt regretful: he did not enjoy lecturing his sons. He stood. "In light of this, my sons, I believe that a lesson in home cleanliness in place of training is in order."

He knew that they were trying to hold in groans. Smiling he said, "After you have finished with your room, you may come to me. I see many things in our home that require attention."

This was met with audible groaning that they could not hold in. Cleaning the lair had to be the four turtle's least favorite activity.

Leonardo, who'd had his head down, sighed and said, "Well, let's get started."

Raphael looked at him, "Hey, who put you in charge?"

Michelangelo and Donatello simultaneously shoved Leonardo and Raphael out the door amidst cries of surprise from both parties, before their arguing could inspire Splinter with more ideas of things for them to do.

It would take them forever to do their room. The little tiny game board pieces that they had used as the borders outlining the road would take forever to sort and put away in their respective game boxes, as would the folding of all their blankets, and putting their bigger toys away on the shelves. It would have taken less time if they hadn't been bickering between themselves over who had to do what.

"Why do I have to clean this up?" Michelangelo whined, "Raph's the one that dropped it in the first place." He was referring to the brown banana slime that Splinter had accidentally stepped in.

"Because _I'm _cleaning up all your action figures!" Raph said indignantly. "Besides, you were closer." In truth, he'd rather pick up action figures over messing with a disgusting pile of oozy banana any day. Anything that even remotely resembled snot just grossed him out.

"Why don't you two just switch?" Donatello asked. He was one that would rather have no arguing going on. He felt that if they were on their best behavior, they might just get away from having to clean too many more things.

Mikey had been looking down at the smushed banana pile with a morose and thoroughly disgusted look on his face. Then his face went through an assortment of expressions: the "ding! The light bulb just turned on" face, then the "oh, I am such a genius" face, followed closely by "Mr. Sly" face. He scooped up the mushy banana leavings, and hurled them into the air. In a split second he was nowhere to be seen, even before the banana goo had landed on Raphael's shell.

"What the…" Raph said, confused at the feeling of something falling on him. Once his hand became goobered all over from the banana when he reached behind him to see what it was—after a moment of sudden nausea—he let out a roar. "MIKEY!!!" Thoughts of, _it's way too early for your crap, Mikey,_ and _GROSS_ were rolling through his head. But the one thought that most prominently shot to his foremost brainwaves were, _You are SO dead!_ He swiftly and actually rather noisily searched for his brother, looking left and right, and re-disheveling the room wherever his distempered search took him. Still Mikey was nowhere to be seen.

Until Leonardo stepped in.

"Raph, knock it off!" He yelled, getting angry that his brothers were causing more problems than they were solving, as they were supposed to be cleaning, not messing everything up, and certainly not hiding from everything so as not to have to lend a helping hand. "Mikey! Get out here and start cleaning!"

Raph looked irritably at Leonardo. He hated it when Leo gave the orders, and expected everyone to obey him as though he were Splinter miniaturized. He was about to tell him so, but then Mikey reappeared out of nowhere.

Rounding on him, Raphael brought up a hand to hit him over the head, but his arm was caught by someone else's arm. Leo's. Leo just looked at him full in the face, with an expression of, 'Raph, this is not the time.' At the same time, he turned his red-masked brother around, pointing him at some very messed up and in desperate need of being cleaned area, and shoved him on his way.

Raph didn't know what the word for it was, but he _really _didn't like what Leo had just done. Donatello would have called it 'condescending,' but then he would have had to explain that it meant that a person who was condescending was someone who thought that they were better than everyone else, or on that same gist. Whatever it was called, and whatever it meant, Raph really didn't like it at all. He was tempted to fling banana goo at Leo, just to spite him, and normally wouldn't have hesitated a moment. If only it weren't for the fact that Mikey had thought it up already, and he wouldn't stoop to Mikey's level. He merely grunted in frustration, and saved this little piece of anger in his already bursting bottle, and let it simmer, knowing that he would be able to find something to uncork it sooner or later.

Mikey had been working around the bookshelve, which happened to be right by Donatello's and his bunkbed. Suddenly the whole room seemed to brighten with cheerfulness, and a happy call bursted forth from the youngest of the four. "Hey guys! I found it! I found it!" Michelangelo had a comic book in his hands, waving it around wildly.

"You found what?" Leonardo asked, his head and arm currently underneath his bed pulling out some hidden garbage, to be thrown away later.

"I found issue 147 of the Justice Force! I thought I'd lost it, and it's one of my favorites!'

Nobody could actually see Leo's face but everyone could physically feel his eyes roll.

He sighed. "Are you done straightening the bookshelf yet?"

Michelangelo deflated a little. "No…"

Setting aside his comic book with longing eyes, Michelangelo continued the boring, mindless job of putting their books in order, muttering under his breath at his eldest brother, "Sheesh, Mr. Cranky-pants."

Donatello had been in the process of taking all the parts to toys that he'd taken apart, and shoving them all in a pile to be put together later, when all of the sudden he saw a shadow fall over him.

Raph was standing there, his eyes wide and a growing look of anger and frustration clouding his face.

"Don, you didn't—" He gasped with incredulity. "You took apart my incredible Motorcycle Man's motorcycle?" His stunned look surveying the now unattached wheels, the seat completely removed, and the innards laid bare lasted only a moment, before he came at Donatello with outstretched hands.

Deftly dodging out of the way, Donatello made a swift getaway to his top bunk feeling very much like a cat stuck in a tree, with a howling Raphael at the bottom.

Sighing at his fate, he thought, _Well, at least this position is defensible._

Meanwhile, Mikey's efforts at not reading one of his favorite comic books were slowly beginning to wear thin. At first he glanced at the book, turning his attention back to his task at hand—the oh so exciting job of cleaning the bookshelf—but after a while, his glances turned into longing stares. Finally, he let his eyes drift over the cover, reading each and every savory word.

Pretty soon, the comic book was in his hands, and the first page was open.

"Just one page…" he murmured delightedly to himself.

At the large outburst from Raphael's side of the room, Leo looked up from his new project of storing all their extra blankets underneath all their beds, now that he'd removed the garbage and placed them in an old brown paper bag.

Mikey had disappeared somewhere, and Donatello was trapped at the top of his bed, kicking away Raphael, who looked as though he wanted to drop-kick him all the way across the Atlantic.

"Guys!" Leonardo tried to interrupt. "Why am I the only one who's actually working?" No one answered him, and probably hadn't even heard him in the first place.

Why does utter chaos always seem to escalate?

Despite Leo's most valiant efforts, Raphael was bent on turning Don into a knuckle sandwich. Which eventually knocked over the bunk-bed, causing Donatello to sprawl all over the ground with an "oof!" This revealed Michelangelo hiding underneath their bunk bed, reading his newly re-discovered comic book.

He shielded his eyes from the sudden light, only to find a shadow had fallen over him. It was Leo, with a "Mikey, you are so going _down_!" look on his face.

Mike let out a small 'eep!!' and vanished with a 'pwing!'

Leo followed behind with not but a breath of second behind him, arms outstretched, ready to squash him flat.

Leo thought this might be overdoing it just a little, but he was so tired of people not listening to a word he said.

That's when the two battlefronts collided with each other—one front being the war between Raph and Don, and the other being the chase between Mikey and Leo—with an explosion that rivaled that of the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima, leaving the room looking just about as devastated. Soon, there was not a single thing in place—not even a bed—many things were broken, and more than one thing was beyond repair.

It was at this time—about an hour since he had sent them to clean their room before breakfast—that Splinter decided to intervene. Hopefully, before anything dire resulted from their roughhousing. He gingerly put his hand on the doorknob, cringing in preparation for the ear-numbing noise of yelling, crashing, bonking, banging, and all other hubbub. The decibels increased tenfold once he opened the boy's door.

His disappointment in his son's lack of discipline and teamwork increased, but so did his frustration as well.

What was he to do with his four bickering, disastrous sons?

He merely stood there, watching a living tornado of green blurs, masks, and feet. He didn't have long to wait before his sons finally noticed him. The noise level dropped instantly, the fighting ending on the spot, and four bowed heads lined up in front of him—more to hide the mess than anything.

It took a moment to find any words to say.

Donatello knew they were in some serious trouble when Master Splinter became speechless.

After a few moments of nothing but the sound of heavy breathing coming from the four turtles, Master Splinter finally found his voice.

"My sons, you are to go to the dojo and perform backflips until I return."

"Hai, Sensei." Came the chorus. They moved into the dojo on the double, and began their back-flips, while Master Splinter moved back into his room. He knelt on his tadamai mat, letting his cane rest on his knees, while his hands rested on top of his cane.

_At least this might wear them out a little, so they won't have the energy to argue with me. And this will give me some time to meditate. What should I do with my four sons? I have been troubled for quite some time now. Despite what training I have covered in the dojo, they refuse to work as a team outside of it. Somehow, they aren't relating the training that I have been giving them inside the dojo to life outside of it. But this cannot be. The whole reason for my training is to face their lives as they move on in their journey. To help them stay hidden, to help keep them safe, and most of all, to keep them together. They are all they have, and they should know this._

He furrowed his eyebrows, not liking his options now.

Meanwhile, back in the dojo, an annoying voice kept shouting out the number of flips they'd done so far.

"Sixty-seven… sixty-eight… sixty-nine…" Leo counted off.

"Aw, Leo, would you shut-it?" Raph said, panting from the effort. He knew Sensei had to be really ticked off to make them do an indefinite amount of back-flipping. But to have Leo count how many they were actually doing made the punishment seem ten times worse.

Still, Sensei hadn't come out of his room.

_Perhaps I am over-reacting. They are still small boys after all. Maybe I have—as Raphael has often told me—awaken on the wrong side of my futon this morning. Yet, I know that I have been sensing their lack of teamwork and discipline in general for a while, and I do wish to address it. Perhaps this is the opportunity I should take to teach them that nothing is more important than their trust in each other, and their ability to depend on each other and work together. If they cannot clean a simple room without their incessant bickering, then how do they expect to get along later in life? _

As he pondered on that thought for a moment, an interesting idea tickled his brain, and he smiled.

"Hmmmm… that could work. And I could use a break." He smiled a little bit more. "I wonder if they would be up to the challenge?"

A little bit more thought and planning, and his smile widened into a verifiable grin. "They won't be able to refuse. Not with food being the prize."

He didn't move, but took the idea and began molding it into a plan.

Outside his room, the turtles were getting tired now. Even Leonardo didn't have the breath to do anything other than continuing the flipping.

Would Sensei ever get out of his room?

Not one of them liked the idea that they were completing a punishment only to have another punishment.

But none of them could blame Sensei.

Well… none of them except maybe Raphael.

"Geeze, it's not like we were doin' anythin' that we haven't done before. Why's he gotta flip out _now?_"

Donatello looked at him. "Do you really have to ask that question? He probably got fed up with it by now. I mean, we are twelve years old after all."

"Yeah, so what?" Raph countered. "He's never been this tweaked about something we've done before."

"Aw man, I'm hungry." Mike butted into their arguments. As if to accentuate his complaints, everyone in the dojo was able to hear a loud grunting gurgle, even though they were still in the process of completing their one-hundred and fifty-second flip.

Nobody else told him that they were pretty hungry too.

The door to Sensei's room slid open, and Master Splinter walked out. Raphael thought that he looked a heck of a lot more calm than he had when he went in there. He hoped that meant that Sensei had cooled off, and wouldn't press on them another punishment.

Boy was he wrong.

He stood in front of them, watching while they completed five more flips. Then he had them stand in front of him, and listen to the verdict.

Mikey hoped that it wouldn't take too long. He didn't know how much longer his stomach would be able to hold out.

"My son's" Began Splinter with his usual preamble, "It has only been an hour since you've awakened. However in that time you were able to make such a mess of your room that I do not believe that it can be cleaned within this day." He said this with a smile, meaning that he had something hidden up his rather long sleeve.

The boys began to get this sudden feeling of doom lurking somewhere in their intestines.

"It would have only taken a short time to clean, if you had managed to work together." Splinter continued. "Therefore, we will leave the room you have managed to wreak havoc upon for a later date, as well as all the other house-chores that I have written down on a list."

He held up the list. It was compiled on several pieces of blank standard-size paper written in sub-standard size writing. Splinter's handwriting was so small in fact that Donatello guessed that he had written at least one hundred things on the list for them to do. All of them knew that it would be a dreaded item to come.

Despite this, they felt hopeful.

_At least we won't have to clean today! Anything has gotta be better than that!_ Thought Mikey. His stomach gurgled in hungry agreement.

"Instead," continued Master Splinter, "I have a plan that will require you to work as a team in order to obtain your goal. My son's, despite all you have learned, your skills with the art of ninjitsu, your abilities to wield weapons, and adeptness with hand-to-hand combat, these things will be useless to you unless you learn to cooperate with those around you. If you cannot work together to complete a simple task such as cleaning your room, I would be doing you an injustice not to teach you how important teamwork really is."

All four sons began to feel some indescribable feeling of terror slowly creep up their spines.

_Ho boy, we are not gonna get outta this one easy, are we?_ Thought Raphael, who—like Michelangelo—was beginning to take note of his now grumbling stomach. They were usually done with practice by now, and he'd have already gulped down something for breakfast.

Donatello was having the same problem. His stomach wouldn't be quiet. It was usually a simple matter to quell his stomach by ignoring it, but this time it seemed to be more demanding than usual.

Leo's was no different.

As Master Splinter lectured on the importance of teamwork, and working together, and ultimately sticking together, there came a loud quartet of gurgling stomachs. Master Splinter had to hold in a smile. This was indeed his plan. He had hoped that they would be really hungry. Boys tended to have a constant food deficit. This would provide for the incentive that they needed.

With that in mind, he stated the punishment. "Today we will have a day-long teamwork training session."

"D-day l-l-long?" Stuttered Michelangelo, who could hardly believe his ears.

All four of them looked at each other with sidelong glances, each secretly wishing they could slink away to a different location than their current one.

"The rules are simple. I shall have a prize on me, and it is your job to retrieve it. We will begin as soon as I have given you an ample breakfast. All of you must work together, or none of you shall receive the prize."

Simple enough… but…

"Uh, Sensei?" Asked Leonardo.

"Yes, my son?"

"What exactly _is_ the prize?"

Sensei smiled.

"Dinner."


	3. Curiosity vs Stupidity

_**Chapter Two – Curiosity vs. Stupidity**_

As Splinter had almost completely memorized the sewer system underneath New York, having traveled extensively in it during the last twelve years, he gave the young turtles the only map he had in his possession.

With the map came further—and very strict—instruction.

"You may not go to the surface. These areas are the only ones in which I will travel." He highlighted the areas in which he planned to use to evade his sons, and set up traps. "You must stay together. Under no circumstance are you to pair off, or go alone. Understand?"

"Yes, Master Splinter." Leo said for everyone.

Everyone else still had their mouths full of granola and apple slices.

Splinter handed Leo the map, who folded it up neatly, and stuffed in pack. They all had a light travel pack with them, filled with a few things that each one had packed by himself. Master Splinter did not look in them. He knew that each would be different, and each one would have something to contribute, but also if he looked in them, they would ask if they had done it correctly. While he felt willing to help his sons and students, he would rather have them lean on each other today. If today taught them anything, it would be that they could exchange their bickering for support.

The aged rat had taken them out of the lair for breakfast, bringing to them a place where they had had little experience. He wanted them to feel almost lost, even though this would be practically impossible, especially with how much these young boys had taken to exploration for the last several years. They ate their breakfast, which Master Splinter had brought in a pack. They almost thought that he'd packed breakfast at the bottom of the pack on purpose, so that he would be able to tantalize them with the thought of what they were going to have for dinner. They saw leftover pizza slices, a big bag of chips, other junk-food, and even a dessert of hostess cakes filled with cream. There were also some apples. Donatello guessed that while Splinter was trying to make this meal as tempting as possible for them, packing all the junk-food he knew that they liked, Splinter also felt as though he needed to make sure that they had some nutrition.

All they knew was that they had not quite filled up on breakfast, and before long they were going to very much desperate for dinner before this was all over. None of them guessed that this was going to be easy. In fact, each one believed that Splinter would evade them with everything he had, and they wouldn't be able to get dinner until it was later into the night.

Which was indeed Splinter's plan.

He stood, even though all four boys were still working on their apples.

"Now my sons, you may follow me when you've finished with breakfast. Be aware of everything. Remember, not only do you have to find me, you must also avoid any traps that I may lay."

Michelangelo almost choked on a bite of apple. "T-t-_traps_??" He was beginning to like this idea of Master Splinter's less and less. Not only was he going to be starving all day long, but now he was going to feel paranoid every time he walked around a corner.

Splinter said nothing to Michelangelo, but turned and vanished in a flash.

All four boys continued chewing, the immediate area around them filling with a dark gloom

Sheesh, they hadn't even been able to see which way he'd disappeared off to, because he'd done it so fast.

Leo was the first to be finished with his breakfast, and he stood, opening the map. He began to think. How would they find Master Splinter? First of all, they had no idea which way he went. He found himself suddenly wishing that Master Splinter hadn't told them that they couldn't split up. This would be way easier if they did, because they'd be able to search more than one place at a time. He sighed.

"Looks like we've got no choice but to just guess and figure it out from there…" He muttered.

Don finished next, and began studying the map as well. He doubted, like Leo, that they had any positive clue as to where Master Splinter might have headed, also guessing that even if they tried to second-guess where Splinter might be more likely to head, that he would probably surprise them anyway.

Mikey finished next. He'd have been the first one done had it not been for the frankly quite terrifying announcement that Master Splinter would be creating traps for them _not_ to fall into, and he ended up finding it hard to swallow. He stood behind the two staring at the map with glum looks on their faces. He furrowed his eyebrow ridges.

"Dudes, what's with the gloomy faces?" He said, putting his hands on the tops of their heads, much to the chagrin of his two brothers. "We'll find him soon, and then we'll get DINNER!" He beamed.

Donatello almost smiled. It would not be that easy. "Mikey, your hand. It's on my head."

Mikey tackled him, and amidst cries of protest yelled, "It sure is!!"

Raphael had finished. He was not in the best of moods to say the least, and he did not want to deal with Michelangelo's antics today. He muttered, "Let's get going." Impatiently glancing at the map once, he threw his pack over his back, and began marching in the same direction (hopefully) that Master Splinter had traveled in.

Of course he was just guessing, but…

"Raph, where are you going?" Leo asked.

"Master Splinter went this way." Raph said without hesitation, and without stopping.

"You saw him?" Asked Donatello and Michelangelo together.

"No, he didn't see him." That was Leo, standing up and folding up the map. "He's just guessing."

Raph narrowed his eyes at him. "You wanna bet?" He took off down the tunnel way.

"Raph!" All three brothers called after him. They threw their packs on their backs and ran after him.

"Raph!" Shouted Leo at his brother's disappearing form. "Master Splinter told us not to separate!"

"Then keep up with me!" Raph shouted back.

"Raph, you hothead!" Both Mikey and Don shouted at him.

Leo hated it when Raph tried to do things like this. He always led them straight into trouble. Didn't take the time to stop and think things through, and somehow it always ended up badly.

To say that this was no exception would be redundant, but this was clearly no exception. Master Splinter had left behind nicely challenging trap that Raph fell into headlong.

In two seconds, the three brothers could only watch as a noose trapped Raph's ankle, and pulled him up to the tall ceiling of a junction he'd come to. The rope's end disappeared into a hole in the ceiling, and Raph could only struggle, having been caught there like a bear that had gotten too close to the bait. Unfortunately, the three brothers below had no way to reach him, being close to twenty feet below him. Raph couldn't undo the knot around his ankle, as his very weight kept it tight. Since nobody could locate the end of the rope, and indeed only saw about three inches of rope from Raph's ankle to the ceiling, Mikey decided there was only one thing to do.

Make fun of ol' Raphie boy.

"Nice job, Slick," Mikey said, struggling to keep from laughing. He had his arms wrapped around his stomach, and he was shaking.

Raph just folded his arms, trying to look a little less ridiculous, and simply stated, "Shut up."

Leonardo sighed. He knew something like this would happen. Didn't Master Splinter _just_ tell them to be careful of traps?

Donatello stood rubbing his chin, examining Raph's trap, trying not to say something. He didn't want to worry them.

But he didn't have much choice. "Uh, guys… hate to bring this up, but how in the world are we going to get him down from there?"

They couldn't cut the end of the rope, and they couldn't even reach the end of Raph's hands, even if he hung them down. They were too short.

"Don't worry about it." Raph said, struggling to reach his ankle. He managed to grab onto it with one hand, but he couldn't do much. As everyone down below had first noted, the rope was pretty tight on his ankle, and it didn't look possible to try and untie it. And he couldn't cut it. Master Splinter had strictly told them that weapons of any kind were forbidden for today.

"Yeah, whatchya gonna do, Tarzan, try and wriggle yourself free?" Taunted Michelangelo, still trying to get a grip on his laughter. "Or, maybe we could find a nice tub of margarine, and get your foot all slippery!"

He started laughing, but then he stopped. "You know… that might just work!"

Donatello rolled his eyes, and said, "Right, and where exactly would we find a nice tub of margarine? The supermarket? Besides which, we can't exactly leave him here…"

"Why not?" Asked Mikey, "It's not like he's gonna go anywhere."

"Ah, forget you guys!" Raph said, starting to get annoyed, besides which his head was beginning to pound from hanging upside down. "I'll just use these!" He reached inside his belt, and pulled out his shuko-spike gloves.

"Whaddaya gonna do with that?" Mikey asked, rubbing his head.

"Saw myself down from here, that's what!" Raph said.

Mikey looked from the ceiling, to the junction's floor, then back up to the ceiling. "You sure?"

Raph had begun rubbing the spikes back and forth across the rope that held him bound. "Damn straight." He grunted.

Mikey backed up a few feet, and said "Uh, no you're not, because…"

The rope began to make noises.

Raph had sawed more than halfway through the rope, when his eyes opened wide. "Um… anyone wanna catch me?"

It was a simple question. But it was received with a roar of laughter from all three brothers. Despite him being about twenty feet in the air, not one of them wanted their heaviest brother landing on them.

Raph had stopped trying to get through the rope, and looked at his brothers in earnest, "Seriously, someone catch me!"

The rope began to snap, and Raphael grasped the rope with both hands to keep it from breaking further. "Guys!" He yelled down at them, now considering that if the rope did break, he might land on his head and snap his neck.

Mikey began to feel worried. Despite how he joked, he really didn't want his brother to get hurt. Both Leo and Donnie felt the same way.

The rope Raph grasped desperately made another snapping sound.

"Guys, not—" _Snap!_ "Not much time left!" He called down to his brothers, panic beginning to color his voice and his face.

Mikey's eyes lit up. "Guys, we could make a net with our arms, and catch him together!"

Furrowing his eyebrows, Donatello tried to work out the logistics, and merely shook his head. "Mikey, that idea has some serious flaws in it. For one, the altitude that Raph is right now will make the velocity of his fall increase exponentially, which will in turn increase the impact of his—"

"Okay okay!" Mikey said, covering his ears, not wanting his brain to explode with the information overload with which his brainy brother spouted.

Leo joined in, "Yeah, but if somebody could divert the direction of his fall, and make him fall into something soft like…" Leo looked around, and noticed something that he hadn't before. About five feet away from where Raph was about to splat on the cold concrete floor, a ledge with a railing along the side let tell of a pool of stagnant sewer water about ten feet deep. "Like that!" He pointed at the ledge excitedly.

Mikey piped up. "Yeah, you guys could throw me into Raph, and slingshot me and him over the edge!"

Donatello rolled his eyes. "That would require some skillful timing. What if we miss?"

"Yeah," Raph called from above, not liking the fact that the best idea that they could come up with was 'let's tackle and drown Raph in sludge,' "If you miss, I'll be in just as much trouble as now!"

Another snap accentuated his argument.

The rope was beginning to give in earnest now, creaking, and making Raph begin to spin like an overgrown, green piñata. Mikey looked up at his brother. He still thought that his idea to slingshot his seriously heavy brother over the edge was a good one.

Leo and Don began to argue now.

'Well," said Leo, "We could just let him fall. A good ninja should be able to just turn over, and land on his feet."

"We're _turtles_, Leo." Don countered, "Not cats! And what if he doesn't?"

Another thread in the rope snapped.

"Guys!" Mikey tried, his eyes wide. Raph said nothing, he just narrowed his eyes at his two quarreling brothers.

"Yeah, but we should know how to do this sort of thing." Leonardo shot back, "Splinter has always taught us to land on our feet."

"Leo, we've never been strung up twenty feet by our ankles. It's a straight drop, he won't have time to compensate."

"_I _could do it."

"Would you like me to string you up so you can give it a shot?"

During this heated debate, Mikey began to sway back and forth along with Raph's swayings, a look of determination beginning to form on his face.

Raphael said nothing. He knew exactly what Mike was about to do, and he didn't like it. But being the one that had no other options, he wasn't about to start complaining.

The taught rope had finally frayed down to the last fiber.

Leo and Donnie were still arguing. "It's not like he can't just land on his shell." Leo said, unfeelingly.

Donatello rolled his eyes, "It's a twenty-foot drop! Just the force of his impact could crack it!"

Then they both heard something that stopped them in their arguments instantaneously.

_Snap!_

Raphael began to free-fall, his arms and legs flailing, trying to right himself in mid-air. As Donnie had predicted, nothing he did could change how he landed. He was heading head-first into the solid concrete.

Seemingly in slow motion, they saw their brother fall, and at the same time, Michelangelo began to run. He lowered into a crouch, and sprang into a jump, making it about five feet into the air before barreling into his older brother's torso. His velocity knocked both of them to the side, and their trajectory took them directly over the edge. Unfortunately, they weren't high enough for Raphael to escape hitting his head on the railing before dropping another ten feet into the green slime that awaited them below. They landed with a gurgling splash.

The two dry brothers ten feet above could only watch in shocked silence, both of them acutely aware that the fact that they had been arguing with each other, and not doing anything could very well have cost Raph a whole lot more damage than a mere ding to the head with a rail.

When they finally shook off their stunned silence, they sprinted over to the edge, and looked.

Raphael and Michelangelo both had surfaced, their bodies covered in a slightly thick, greenish substance.

Raph had a look of absolute disgust on his face.

Mikey looked like he was about to throw up.

Leo and Don took one look at each other, the panic disappearing from their chests, and then burst out laughing in relief.

"Good job Mikey!" Don called down to his slime-coated, orange wearing brother.

"Bleck!" was all that he received in response.

It took a few minutes to discover the nearly invisible (due to the slime that covered the walls) ladder that led back to the top of the catwalk. Mikey spotted it first with his sharp eyes. Raphael followed behind him. When they had made it nearly to the top of the ladder, Michelangelo paused.

"Hey, Mikey! I'm still on the ladder!" Raphael complained. He didn't want to fall off into the green, smelly murk below. Besides, his head hurt.

"Do you guys hear something?" Mike questioned, tilting his head to the side.

They all paused, listening.

Something muffled, but consistent. It thrummed like a heartbeat. Like…

"Drums…" Donatello commented.

They all searched for the sound, each thinking how odd it would be to find some group of drummers down here. Donatello also added to this thought that it would be extremely unlikely as well.

Suddenly, Michelangelo yelled, startling all of them practically out of their green skin.

"It's down there!!" He yelled.

"How can you tell?" Leonardo asked.

Mikey just shrugged. "Dunno. But I KNOW it's down there."

Raph finally exploded, "Well, I_ ain't_ gonna be the one ta dive down there and find out what's making that noise, so _move _your shell, Mike, or you're gettin' tossed back in there!"

Michelangelo finished climbing up the rest of the way. "Okay, fine." Although he was on the catwalk once more, he gave a long sideways glance at the murky pool of water.

Don grimaced. "You know what they say Mikey, curiosity killed the cat."

Michelangelo turned to face the pool once again, burning curiosity obviously etched in his features. "Naw, stupidity killed the cat. Curiosity was framed."

With that, before anyone could even shout a protest, he dove back into the pool of water.

Raph turned to look at Leo and Don. "He's both."


	4. Impending Doom

_Disclaimer: I do not own TMNT, Jumanji, nor the sewers of New York._

_****Author's Note: So, it's been a long time coming. Several years in fact, since I've updated this story. It's because I was away serving a mission for my church for a couple of years, and had no way to really work on this story during my mission. So you can expect a much faster update this next time! I DO plan on finishing it! I will I will I will!  
_

_**~Chapter Three: Impending Doom~**_

"What is it?" Leonardo asked, leaning over the slime covered, brown looking box, slender in shape, probably made of wood, with intricate designs on the front.

All four boys had their hands resting on their knees, peering at the water-logged object, each young turtle with a burning curiosity written all over their faces. When Michelangelo had brought it out of the murky water, it sounded as though he'd brought his own tribe of drummers with him. In fact, they all felt the vibrations literally rattle their chests, it was so loud. However, when Mikey set the thing down in front of them, it fell silent.

Raphael tilted his head sideways. "Jah…Ju…manji. Jumanji? What does that even mean?"

They all three looked at Donatello, and he shrank away from their stares. "Don't ask me! I've never heard of that word before."

Mikey knelt down next to it, examining his treasure closely.

"Look, it opens!" He opened the lid of the deep brown box, as though it were a cupboard.

All of their breaths released in disappointment.

"It's a board game." Leonardo said, not even trying to hide his disappointment.

"Yeah, but it's a cool lookin' board game!" Michelangelo argued, defending his treasure.

Raphael chimed in, "Yeah, and I ain't never heard any board game have drums in it."

Donatello hadn't commented because he'd been reading something off to the side. It was apparent that this game was meant for four players, each with a line of squares starting at the four corners of the board. They squiggled and turned in an intricate pattern, until, eventually, they led to a black glass orb in the middle of the board. On either side of the board were red letters.

"Jumanji," Donatello read aloud, "A game for those who seek to find a way to leave their world behind. You roll the dice to move your token, doubles gets another turn. The first person to reach the end wins."

"Adventurers Beware:" Leonardo continued, having seen the second part on the other side, because it was facing his way, opposite of Donnie. "Do not begin the game unless you intend to finish. The exciting consequences of the game will vanish when a player has reached Jumanji, and called out its name."

A silence as the four turtles pondered and mulled the words around in their minds.

"Well, I think we should play it!" Raph said, straightening, and looking at his three other brothers. "I mean, it has drums in it! It has to be cool!"

Leonardo, who thought that Raph was rushing into things again, said, "We can't right _now_, because we still have to find Sensei!"

Donatello added, "I don't really want to play, it's just a stupid old board game. Somebody threw it away for a reason, right? Maybe it's because they thought it was lame."

They all three looked at Mikey, expecting him to pipe in with an opinion of his own. What they didn't expect him to be doing was opening the little lid on the corner of one of the doors, and lifting the old, yellowed dice and the game pieces out.

He examined them: there was a white rhino, a black elephant, a black horse, and a black monkey. They looked like something you'd find at a gift shop in a mall which features Indian rugs and incense.

He whispered in a dramatic tone, "It sounds like a _challenge_."

For a second, the other three turtles let the mysterious whispers emitting from their dramatic brother's mouth envelop them in a sense of mystical adventure: the promise that awaited them if they were to play this game. Then, both Donatello and Leonardo said together:

"No way, it's just a dumb board game!"

Raphael and Michelangelo countered together, "It is not!"

Mikey and Raph looked at each other in slight surprise, but then they both smiled, as if some sort of silent communication had passed between them.

"See, guys, I'll be the white rhino, Raph's the monkey, Don's the elephant, and Leo can be the horse!" Michelangelo said, all ready to get started playing.

"Hey, why am I the monkey?" Raphael protested, putting his fists on his hips.

Leo had to put his foot down. His stomach had just growled at him again. "Look, we are not going to play this game. We are still in a training session, remember? Mikey, put those game-pieces away. We'll play later." Then he thought of another incentive. "Remember, Mikey. Sensei has food."

Mikey's shoulders fell. "Oh yeah…" He looked morosely at the four playing pieces in his hands. He wanted to play the game _now_. But he realized that the sooner they caught Sensei, the happier his stomach would be.

"Figures you would give in to food." Raph mocked. Then his own stomach growled. _Man, I hope we find Splinter soon._

Donatello opened the lid to the compartment where the dice and the playing pieces belonged. "Here, put them in quickly, and we'll get going. Splinter has had a huge head-start by now."

Michelangelo attempted to dump the four pieces into the compartment, but seemingly of their own accord, they suddenly scrambled out of his hand, and onto the playing board as soon as they came in proximity, almost as if they had been magnetized.

Or, at least Donatello thought that they had magnets on them, but when he tried to pull them off, it felt more like they had been fused to the carved wood itself. Mikey even attempted to pull the game pieces off their respective starting points, but none of them would move.

"What's with this thing?" Mikey asked, tugging and twisting at the game pieces to no avail.

Leonardo rolled his eyes. "Guys, quit messing around. Just close the lid, and hide the game somewhere we'll find it when we come back to get it."

Michelangelo ignored him, still struggling with the game pieces that had fixed themselves to the board. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, panting a little, and looked at his brother, "Keep your shorts on, Leo, I can fix it…"

Donatello rolled his eyes, "I've heard that one before…" he muttered.

Letting the dice fall from his hands, trying to turn the board upside-down, he looked for a 'release switch' or something that would make it so the game pieces would come off. Before he could turn it over, he noticed that a game piece started to move. It was the white rhino, the first piece he had picked up. The one he'd assigned to himself. "What the…?" Michelangelo's eyes furrowed.

The white rhino moved steadily along the off-white, ivory looking spaces. It stopped at the fourth square. Donatello furrowed his eyebrow ridges right along with Michelangelo. "Why did it just move?" He asked with a quiver in his voice.

Raphael pointed a finger at the dice. "_That's_ why!"

All four of them peered at the dice. A one and a three. Four spaces.

"Look!" Leonardo said, pointing to the big black orb in the middle of the game board.

Creepy, smoke-like, goldenrod yellow vapor began swirling about in the orb, and shape itself into words. Michelangelo felt the urge to read them out-loud. "These slithery beasts may have tiny eyes, but their mouths gape open wide."

The four of them looked at each other. Each one was thinking the same thing.

"What does that mean?"

What they didn't realize was that disgustingly large snakes, the kind of which would probably haunt them in their dreams for years to come, had mysteriously appeared in the scummy sewer water pool that Michelangelo and Raphael had recently fallen into. They began to slither up the rungs of the ladder.

Leonardo had had enough. It was time to get going on their training exercise. He folded up the lid without warning.

"Hey!" Michelangelo protested, trying to get the game away from Leonardo.

"Mikey, let go!" Leonardo commanded, his obnoxious 'I'm the leader' attitude that Raphael hated so much sneaking into his voice.

"No, Leo, _you_ let go!" Mikey countered, getting his hands on it, and pulling.

They pulled at the game with a determined air. Mikey wanted to figure the game out more—having been completely distracted and entranced by the cool orb-thingy that made words appear like a future-telling magic eight ball. Leonardo wanted dinner, and more importantly, he wanted to prove to Master Splinter that they could work well as a team. Mikey was thwarting his efforts!

A shout from their purple-banded brother made them look up from their little tug-o-war. Donatello had somehow been completely entangled in the coils of a huger-than-life snake!

"Donnie!" The three other brothers cried in unison. Michelangelo and Leonardo had dropped the board game they had been squabbling over.

"Help!" yelped the now-being-squished Donatello, not enjoying the feeling of the powerful compression-tightening muscles that encircled him.

The snake's head came around, and it flicked a pink, forked tongue at the lot of them, and especially at the tasty meal it now held in its grasp.

"Uh, guys," Raphael piped up, immediately going into a defensive stance. "This isn't the only belly-crawler we got! Look out!"

Suddenly, they all realized that there were about ten of those gigantic, monstrous snakes, all over the place; up the walls, along the railing, and slithering toward them on the ground. And what made things worse was that Donatello looked like he was about to go blue in the face.

Leonardo took action, "Guys, cover my back!" He cried.

Raphael and Michelangelo both turned to him, "You've gotta be kidding!"

Leonardo didn't listen. He had charged toward the snake squeezing the life out of his techno-geek brother, determined to make it let go of him if it was the last thing that he did.

Michelangelo and Raphael turned toward the snakes now boxing them in, and they put up their fists. Michelangelo _hated_ monsters, and that included monster snakes! "Raphie-boy, don't let 'em eat me!" He pleaded.

"Grow a backbone, Mikey!" Raph shot back, although he found that he was slowly inching back away from the serpents which had their eyes fixed on the four little snacks they found in their path.

Meanwhile, Leonardo had scaled the beast that held Donnie, and was attempting to bash it in the head with his bare fists. The head alone was bigger than Leonardo's head. It was the biggest snake Leonardo had ever seen! He couldn't help but think as he struck the snake's head with his fist, _why today of all days, when Master Splinter banned our weapons?_

"Can't…breathe…" Donatello gasped.

"Hang on, Don!" Leonardo shouted, and then found himself flying through the air, as the monstro-snake flicked its head, attempting to dislodge Leonardo. The blue-banded turtle landed face-first in the slimy sewer water over the side of the railing.

"Leo!" Both Michelangelo and Raphael exclaimed. They had thus far kept the snakes at bay, by thumping them a good one every time a snake tried to get close. The snakes at this point had their heads up, coiled up to strike at them. There must have been at least five other ones, not including the one that already had a turtle in its clutches, and more still slithering toward them.

"Ah, this is it," Michelangelo began to mutter, doomsday-fashion. "We're gonna be turtle snake-snacks for sure!"

"Not if I can help it!" Raphael countered.

"Guys…" a hoarse whisper from behind them caught their attention. It was Donatello, and he wasn't looking too good. He'd been trying to warn them about the snake that had him: it was about the attack from behind. Raphael and Michelangelo dodged out of the way of the strike just in time. This was the most fortuitous timing, because at that precise moment, another snake had taken the opportunity of the turned heads to bid a strike at the two turtles before it as well, and the two opposing snakes accidentally struck each other.

A lot of hissing ensued, and the one snake released Donatello, as it began fighting the other snake it had run into—it must have thought that the other snake was trying to steal the morsel that it held in its coils. Donatello dropped to the ground with a thud, and a gasp. Raphael and Michelangelo were at his sides in an instant, grabbing him by the wrists, pulling him upright, and helping him get out of the way of the now writhing, battling snakes. They ran to the opposite entrance to the sewer junction.

"Wait a sec," Raphael looked behind them. "Where's Leo?"

A faint yelling noise grew louder as the three of them turned around to face the junction. Leonardo—covered in green slime—was dashing in and out of writhing snakes that also tried to snap at him as well as the snakes they were fighting with. He gave a war cry every time he kicked at and punched at a snake. By the time he had made it to the 'finish line' so to speak, he was panting, and all of the snakes were after them once again.

Shouting in terror, the four of them—Donatello having to use Raphael and Michelangelo as a support team—dashed through the sewers pell-mell, trying to ditch the super-sized snakes that slithered after them. Donatello spotted a grate alongside the sewer wall, one that was too small for giant snakes to fit through. He shouted, "In there!"

He _hoped_ that it was too small for the monstrous reptiles to fit through, anyway.

Raphael let go of Donatello, and made a leaping-kick at the grate that was blocking their entrance. It gave way without much argument. They piled into the small entranceway and sped along their course as if they had rockets attached to their ankles. By the time they finally had calmed down enough to realize that there were no more snakes chasing after them, they were all panting like train engines, and about to collapse anyway.

"Where…the shell… did those things…come from?" panted Raphael emphatically.

Leonardo and Michelangelo—not having the breath to talk shrugged. They didn't even have the slightest clue.

Donatello piped up, "I… have a theory." He too panted heavily from the run, and not to mention the tender, loving hug from the snake that he'd been lucky enough to survive. He'd been given a little bit more time to think in the situation, seeing as how he had been unable to do much else. He took in a deep breath, trying to calm down, and get his wind back. Once he felt he had control of himself again, he began.

"It was the game." He said

Furrowing his eyebrow ridges, Raphael repeated incredulously. "The game?"

Donatello nodded, "Yeah, think about it. What was the warning on the other side of the lid? 'Adventurers Beware: do not start the game unless you intend to finish. The exciting consequences of the game will vanish when a player has reached Jumanji, and called out its name.'" He repeated.

Michelangelo mentioned, "Don, I think it's scary how fast you memorized that thing…"

Donatello ignored his little brother, "I think that Mikey having dropped the dice like that probably counted. And the only way to get rid of the snakes now is to finish the game."

Leonardo thought for a moment, "Okay, let's just say that you're right, Don. Wouldn't it be crazier to continue the game? Because what if something comes out of that game that's even worse? I say that we just leave it well enough alone."

Raphael argued, "Yeah, but now those snakes are on the loose, and I can't see how we'll even _survive_ much longer… can you imagine runnin' into one of those things in the future? We'd never get to leave the lair again. Splinter'd ground us for the rest of our lives!"

Donatello added, "And speaking of Splinter, what is it that snakes usually eat? Rodents! Master Splinter could be in big trouble too.

"Guys," Michelangelo put in, "I think that we need to finish the game. Besides, doesn't Master Splinter always tell us to finish what we've started?"

Putting his hand on his chin, Leonardo thought for a moment. He really _didn't_ want to play this game. He'd been against it from the start. But now, they had a mess to clean up. Even bigger than the messes that they _normally_ get into. Inwardly, he groaned, but he wouldn't show that to his brothers. He looked at Donatello. "Okay, then answer me this. How do we get the game back? It's in the middle of the snakes."

Raphael, Michelangelo, and Donatello all deflated. "Oh yeah…" They hadn't thought about that.

"Well… maybe they'll be somewhere else, since they all followed us out of the junction back there…" Donatello hypothesized. Even to his own ears, it sounded like a long shot.

"What about a diversion?" Michelangelo tried.  
His three brothers eyed him for a moment. Then they all began to smile. Michelangelo suddenly had this intense feeling of dread invade his stomach.

"That's not a half-bad idea, Mike." Raphael said, throwing an arm over his orange-banded brother's shoulder. "Not bad at all."

* * *

Off in a distant tunnel, Master Splinter was debating on his best option. He felt this impending feeling of doom for the second time in the same week. He'd heard the sound of drums once again as well. He knew that something wasn't right, and he wasn't sure what it was. He was positive that his four young sons were okay. But he'd learned to listen to these gut feelings over the years. And they told him to return to his sons. If he found his sons, he could always just start the training session again.

Yes, Splinter was certain that everything would be fine, as long as he was there with them.

As he made his way through the sewer tunnels to where he knew they were last, he realized something.

That feeling of impending doom wouldn't go away.


	5. The Ninja Art of Leading

_**~Chapter Four~ The Ninja Art of Leading**_

"Do I _really_ hafta be the one to do this?" The youngest of the four turtles found himself wishing that he hadn't said a single word on the topic of getting the game back. Because now he was facing the entrance to the old junction—the one that had snakes in it for sure—with his blue-masked brother by his side.

"C'mon Mikey, you know you're the fastest of the four of us." Leonardo said, standing right beside him, preparing for the 'fun' ahead.

Raphael and Donatello had gone around to the top of the junction, where a sewer-line connected to the junction, giving them a perfect eagle's-eye view of the whole thing. They had a long rope that Donatello had thought to put in his trusty backpack. The plan was that as soon as Michelangelo got to distracting the monster snakes, Leonardo would sneak in and grab the game. Once he'd gotten out, then Donatello and Raphael would toss their speedy brother the rope, and pull him up to safety. This had been decided on, after much debating.

"Anything could happen!" Donatello had argued.

Raphael, who had his arms folded across his chest said, "This _ain't_ a good idea, bro."

"Yeah, what if I get eaten? I bet you'd feel _really_ bad then!" Michelangelo nervously tried to persuade his stubborn elder brother to change his mind.

Ultimately, the plan had been chosen because of one reason.

Leonardo was the one that came up with the plan. He really _liked_ the plan. And Leonardo was the leader, and the leader makes the final decisions.

"Ready Mikey?" Leonardo asked.

Michelangelo nervously chuckled, "Do pigs fly?"

Leonardo paused for a second. "No…?"

"Exactly."

Leonardo sighed, "Okay, on the count of three. One—"

"Wait Leo! I think I hear Sensei calling me!"

"Two."

"Can we just draw straws or something?"

"Three!"

Leonardo gave his protesting brother a gentle shove out into the junction, where three startled snake heads turned his way.

"Uh…" Michelangelo's voice quivered nervously, "Hey guys?"

The response was a chorus of hisses. The poor frightened turtle let out a yelp, and made a mad dash for the opposite side of the room, hoping to high heaven that he could outrun the slithering serpents.

The reptiles followed him, apparently very interested in this new and exciting game of "chase the toy."

That's when Leonardo made his move. He scrambled out of the tunnel, heading toward where he'd last seen the game. It had been beside the railing that he'd tumbled over when he'd been flung by the snake. It was there, which was miraculous in and of itself. Leonardo grabbed up the game, and traveled at warp speed toward the exit, when suddenly he remembered.

The dice!

Michelangelo had dropped them from his hand to the ground, and after that all shell had broken loose. They weren't safely stowed inside the gameboard at all!

Leonardo skidded to a halt.

_I have to go back and find those dice!_

Meanwhile, Raphael and Donatello watched from above as a streak of orange and green bounced around the room, evading with tenacity the gigantic and horrifying slithering beasts that came after him. It was entertaining in a way, because it looked like a game of pin-ball. But for the both of them, there was that little edge to it, because they both were very well aware that should Michelangelo make a wrong move, they would be brushing off their best impression of Tarzan on the rope that Donatello held in his hands in their rush to rescue him.

"What the shell is Leo doing?" Raphael suddenly exclaimed.

Leonardo had been on his way out of the junction, which would have been helpful for Michelangelo, who had by now been somewhat cornered. But suddenly, Leonardo had turned around, headed back to the middle of the junction, and was kneeling down!

Leonardo pawed the area for the dice, scrambling as best he could, hoping not to be noticed by the snakes. It didn't seem likely. At this point, Michelangelo had pulled a grappling hook out of his backpack—something that Leonardo was unsure if he actually knew how to use or not—and had hooked it on an overhanging pipe, and began swinging around, using the walls as bumpers. The snakes were having a field day snapping at him as he swung by. So far, he'd been lucky that they'd been missing. Leonardo would be safe in his search for now.

Unfortunately, it appeared that the dice had been knocked away and scattered. No matter where Leonardo looked, he couldn't find them! His eyes swept the floor. What could have happened to them? Leonardo widened his search area, his eyes bouncing back and forth, trying to figure out where they might have gone. Had they gotten knocked over the edge, and into the green sludge just below him? Leonardo hoped with his whole being that that hadn't happened. Because he realized that Raph was right. Splinter would never allow them in the sewers again, with these huge creatures running around. And if the dice were in the slimy water below, there was no way they'd be able to find them again!

Up above the now panicking Leonardo, Donatello and Raphael were starting to feel the pressure also.

"Raph, I don't think Mikey's gonna make it…" Donatello muttered, feeling a bead of nervous sweat dripping down his temple.

Michelangelo had been knocked off of his grappling-hook rope swing, having narrowly dodged a frontal snake attack. He'd landed on his back, and found himself completely surrounded by the snakes. They looked hungry.

"Guess that's our cue," Raphael said, pulling out the rope.  
Quickly tying a large loop with a slipknot at one end of it, Raphael swung the rope, and released. It landed, hooking around a valve that jutted out of the pipe. Both Donatello and Raphael swung on the rope together, aiming for the mass of snake that had their brother surrounded. They couldn't have picked better timing. Just as a snake was about to strike, both Raphael and Donatello let go of the rope, and dive-bombed onto the serpent's head. It smashed to the ground at the weight of the two turtles, and writhed in pain.

Leonardo began to feel more and more hopeless as his search continued. He hadn't been able to find the dice so far, and every time he checked on Michelangelo, the situation had become more and more desperate.

Little did he—nor any of the four terrapins in the vicinity—realize was that they were making a lot of noise. This, of course, would alert any of the mammoth-sized serpents now inhabiting the sewers of New York within a two-mile radius that their escaped snacks weren't too far away. Soon, these gargantuan snakes began to slither into the junction, crawling down from the walls, and in from the tunnels, slithering and hissing as they came, excitedly awaiting the moment that their mouths would taste turtle flesh.

Michelangelo, who had just been saved by the red and purple tarzan impersonators, let out a high-pitched shriek of terror as his eyes caught the horrifying scene of slitherers coming at them from all sides, stuttering as though he had hypothermia, "D-DD-Donnie! R-RR-RRR-RR-RRR—"

"Mikey, stop before you make your brain explode," Raphael said as the three of them turned their backs toward each other, facing the danger that now surrounded them.

"Where's Leo!" Donatello exclaimed, his fists up, and crouching in a defensive stance.

Leonardo was actually about that have a heart attack at that moment. He'd found them! The missing dice were there in his sights! There was only one problem.

Astoundingly, the dice were together, snugly planted in a bit of garbage that had been swept into a pile in a corner of the junction, and there was a snake right in front of them, stalking _him_! He then noticed that the _whole place_ was crawling with monstrosities! And taking a quick inventory, he saw his brothers backed up against each other, with six or seven uglies circling them. It was impossible to not see how completely screwed they all were.

_How had my plan gone so wrong? It _COULDN'T_ have gone wrong! It was a great plan!_ Leonardo wondered to himself as he tried to figure out how to grab the dice without getting eaten.

The giant snakes had them all cornered, and they were preparing to strike.

"Ah man! This is it!" Michelangelo lamented, "We're chow for sure this time!"

Neither one of the brothers beside him said anything, although each one was silently agreeing with the doomsday statement that emanated from their youngest brother. They didn't see a way out of this either. Then, miraculously, there was a powerful shout from a voice which they all recognized. As relief flooded their bodies, they looked around for its source.

They saw Master Splinter also dusting off his inner tarzan, swinging down from a rope he'd attached from the ceiling much like Donatello and Raphael had. The agile rat began his assault on the vipers before he had even touched the ground.

With a yell, he'd purposely swung down aiming for a whole group of giant snakes. Although the turtles had of late been growing rapidly, they still had not quite matched the size of their father (something which master splinter suspected would not be the case in the next few years) and so his attack not only took out one snake, it took out three of them. This liberated the three trembling captives, and they scrambled away from the other three snakes just in time before the crawlies had been able to strike.

"My sons! You must leave! Now!" He commanded them, his authoritative presence making even the largest of the snakes study him with hesitancy, and it seemed that every crawlie had its beady eyes on the warm rodent. An even tastier meal than the cold-blooded green ones!

Michelangelo didn't have to be told twice. He hadn't even wanted to be there in the _first_ place. He beat a hasty retreat, Donatello and Raphael following quickly behind.

Now all that remained was Leonardo, the eldest, and the leader of the group. Master Splinter didn't have time to wonder about anything: not about the giant snakes he'd never before seen in the sewers, nor anywhere else in his widely-traveled experience. Nor did he have time to wonder about how in the world it was that his poor sons had managed to stumble upon them. Nor would he wonder right now why Leonardo wasn't standing with his brothers, or why it seemed that he hadn't even noticed the peril in which he'd place himself. Or why he wasn't trying to escape, rather it seemed he wanted to put himself in _further_ danger by taking a snake on by himself, and ignoring the fact that he was drawing the attention of the other's snakes. And most of all, he _wouldn't_ worry about why Leonardo was further exacerbating the problem by refusing to put down a square wooden object that he held in one hand, which would greatly handicap his fighting abilities.

"Leonardo!" Master Splinter called, scurrying away from the main group of snakes, heading toward the side of his young son.

Leonardo hadn't been completely oblivious to the grand entrance of his sensei; his father. But his mind was so focused at that moment on grabbing the old yellowed dice that so far had eluded his grasp. He had the game box tucked underneath his left arm, so as to not lose it again.

_Just a little bit closer!_ Leonardo thought desperately. He had already come to loath the giant serpents, and he was ready to just finish the game and be done with it. He wanted these slithering monsters to be gone for good!

"Leonardo!" Master Splinter called again, having reached Leonardo's side. Every single snake in the junction was now slithering, circling, and hissing with a fury. They were _hungry!_ This did not escape Master Splinter's attention. In fact, he knew that it would only be a matter of time, should they decide to linger in this snake-infested pit, until they would be killed. "Leonardo," he repeated, having arrived at his son's side. "We must leave now!"

Leonardo responded for the first time, "But I can't Master Splinter, until I get the dice back!" He said determinedly.

Although Master Splinter knew that they needed to head out, he could tell from his young son's countenance that he would not comply with his father's wishes until he had accomplished his goal. And no amount of arm-twisting would help, and the worried father couldn't risk dragging his son away kicking and screaming especially because it was too dangerous to take his eyes off of the serpents for even a moment. Right now, the remaining snakes had slithered forward, and one looked like it was preparing to strike.

He nodded, having determined to help facilitate his son, so they could leave as quickly as possible. "Where are these dice that you speak of?"

Leonardo pointed behind the snake that he'd been dancing with, "There, Master Splinter!"

Master Splinter quickly appraised the situation. If he engaged the snake, it would deter the rest for the moment—at least he assumed it would, hoping in the aggression of the snake to signal the others to back off for the time being. "Leonardo," He said, hunkering down, getting ready to strike, "You grab the dice, and I will fight the beast."

Leonardo nodded, ready. Master Splinter struck with precision the head of the snake, making a leaping kick. After that, the slithering creeper's attention was fully drawn to the rat, ignoring the little turtle that snuck with all his ninja skills behind him. Quickly, Leonardo found and snatched up the little white game pieces, and stuck them into the game where they wouldn't get lost again.

He cried, "I got them Splinter!"

"Good, Leonardo," Master Splinter said, as he continued to divert the overgrown snake's attention, whacking him with his walking stick every time the snake tried to look toward his blue-banded son. "Now, run!"

Leonardo did a flying flip over the body of the serpent that had him semi-blocked into the corner, and tumble-rolled toward the exit. With all of the attention on Master Splinter, very few of the snakes paid much attention to the fleeing reptile. Leonardo could only think one thing.

_We are gonna be in SO much trouble._

Once Leonardo found his brothers, the four young turtles only had to wait about sixty more seconds—Leonardo with his hand on his knees, huffing and puffing from the run—before Master splinter caught up with them. Michelangelo had already taken the brown, hand-carved gameboard from Leonardo, and had it opened up. He held the dice in his hands.

"What," Master Splinter began without preamble whatsoever, "would possess you four turtles to fight those…those…" he was at a loss for any proper way to describe the creatures that he'd just barely evaded, by the whiskers on his pink nose.

"Ginormous, ugly, disgusting monster snakes?" Michelangelo provided, attempting to be helpful.

Master Splinter took in a deep breath, and calmed his thoughts. He looked around at the four turtles scattered at his feet. Raphael and Donatello were standing, having had the most time to rest. Leonardo still panted heavily, but stood upright once more. The only turtle that wasn't upright was Michelangelo. He was leaning over what looked like a board game to Splinter. This was that same board game that Leonardo had just risked all of their lives to protect. Suddenly, the aged rat experienced a renewed interest in this game. He was certain that if he learned why this children's toy had such value to his sons, then he would understand a little more about the scene he'd just witnessed.

He sighed, "Leonardo." He said.

"Yes Sensei?" the blue-masked turtle responded.

"Please explain."

Leonardo gulped. _Guess that's part of being a leader, _he thought to himself,_ the leader is responsible._

"Well," Leonardo started, unsure of where to begin. "I… uh…"

"The snakes came from the game." Michelangelo interrupted, exasperatedly, still peering into the black orb which was now devoid of the ghostly yellow letters that had appeared in it before.

Splinter's ear flicked.

Donatello piped up, "Yeah Sensei, we accidentally started it, and we have to finish it or else the snakes won't go away."

Leonardo nodded, "We lost the dice so we had to go back and get them."

"And it was Leo's _brilliant_ idea to use Mikey as bait—" Raphael piped up, thumbing at Leonardo.

"Exactly!" Michelangelo joined in, having missed Raphael's sarcasm."If it weren't for my amazing distracting skills, Leo woulda never found the dice!"

Donatello put his fists to his sides, rounding on his excitable orange-banded brother. "If it weren't for you, the snakes wouldn't have appeared in the _first_ place—"

"It _WAS_ a brilliant plan!" Leonardo defended.

"No it wasn't, it was a boneheaded plan!" Raphael countered.

"It was not!"

"Then explain why we wouldn't have made it if it weren't for Master Splinter!"

"You all agreed on it!"

"No we didn't, you just pulled out your _leader_ card, and made the final decision for us."

"That's what a leader does!"

"No it ain't, bro. A leader _actually listens_ to the person he's leadin'!"

_"Enough!" _Splinter had to pull out his rarely used "father is most displeased" voice. He could count on one hand the number of times that he had to use it.

The four turtles fell silent. Even Michelangelo stood.

He took a deep inhalation of air, and then began to speak. This was going to take some creativity. He didn't really understand his sons' garbled explanation, and even less what this game actually meant. He did know that there had been some mistakes made. And he wouldn't be a good father and teacher were he not to point them out.

"My sons," he said, "you have all allowed yourselves to become distracted from your true purpose here today." He pretended not to notice Leonardo nudging Raphael hard in the side with his elbow. "And on top of that, you placed yourselves in great danger."

This time Raphael ribbed Leonardo.

"One thing is certain; you still have not learned to work as a team. And until you at least begin to show progress, this training session must continue for today."

There was a pause as the four young ninjas-in-training gave each other furtive sideways glances. Not one of them really wanted to continue training. They were all hungry. And there was an even bigger problem.

After a few seconds Leonardo piped up.

"But Sensei, what about the snakes?"

Splinter's ear flicked once again. "And what about them, my son?"

Leonardo glanced at Michelangelo, who understood what his big brother was getting at. Quickly he scampered to the board game, picked it up, and brought it in front of his father.

"Here," he said, pointing to the carved words on the inside of the board's "cupboard doors."

_Jumanji,_ Splinter read silently, _A game for those who seek to find… _

As Splinter continued, unsure of what his sons were trying to tell him, his eyes fixed on the last bit of writing. He read them aloud. "The exciting consequences of the game will vanish…" he mused.

Leonardo spoke up, for the first time having an understandable argument behind his words. "Sensei. It was an accident, really. Mikey dropped the dice. And then the game piece moved." He pointed to the white rhino that had settled on the fourth space. "And the black orb said..." he squinted his eyes trying to remember.

Donatello piped up, "_These slithery beasts may have tiny eyes, but their mouths gape open wide_."

Leonardo nodded; Michelangelo gave his brainy brother a strange look, and said "You would."

"And then," Leonardo said, still earnestly trying to explain. "All of the sudden there were these gigantic snakes _everywhere_. We barely got out of there. We figured out that they had come from the game, and that if we didn't finish the game, then the gigantic snakes wouldn't ever go away. So we all decided. We _had_ to get the game, and we _have _to finish it, Sensei."

The four brothers looked at each other, and then nodded in agreement.

The wheels in Splinter's head were beginning to turn, seeing his son's intense determination. He saw that same determination in each of their faces. Then suddenly, it hit him.

They had actually made a _team decision._

Whether or not it had been the board game that produced such monstrosities, Splinter was unsure. (Although, considering everything that the aged rat had seen in his lifetime, Splinter wasn't about to rule out that possibility.) But one thing remained clear. His sons were at the beginning of learning how to work together. If they could be united in a cause, even as trivial as playing a game together, but especially if it had a real purpose behind it, then Splinter couldn't stand in the way.

"Very well," Splinter said, watching as his sons let out their bated breath with a sigh of relief. "I will allow the game to be played. But I want to make several rules very clear. Stay together. _Trust_ one another."

The boy's excitement began to grow once again, as Splinter finished his final words. "Hai Sensei," they chorused.

"And one more thing." Splinter said.

They waited expectantly.

"Don't get into any more snake-pits!"

"Hai Sensei."

* * *

Splinter absolutely wouldn't allow the turtles to continue without having had something to fill their stomachs. He figured that since the new goal was to finish the game, there would be no point in withholding sustenance that would be a great aid to them.

For all of the turtles, this couldn't have come at a better time. They all felt ravenous. Especially Michelangelo. Splinter feared that if his eager pupil didn't slow down, he would wind up with food inside of his _lungs_ instead of his stomach. Luckily, Michelangelo had developed an art for inhaling food without it going down the wrong pipe.

Leonardo sat in his own little corner, thinking about what had happened as he slowly chewed his food. As hungry as he was, the fact that he had led his brothers almost to certain death—and if it hadn't been for Splinter, they _really wouldn't have made it_—dulled his hunger a little bit.

He still didn't really understand it. How had his plan gone so wrong? It couldn't have been such a bad plan, really! It seemed like there hadn't been even the slightest chance of going wrong, when he'd first thought of it.

Splinter noticed his son was blue in more than just his mask. He sat beside his son, and looked at him with an open, 'I'm listening' look.

Leonardo sighed. "I was the one that came up with the plan…" he started without preface. "And somehow, everything went so wrong." He stared morosely at the cold pizza in his hand—which usually was just as yummy warm as it was cold.

Splinter had heard what it was that Raphael had thought of Leonardo's catastrophic plan.

He asked his son, "And what did the others think of your plan?"

"They thought… it was fine."

Splinter gave his son a raising of his bushy eyebrow.

Leonardo ducked. "Okay, they didn't like it at all. But it was a good plan! Isn't the leader supposed to come up with a good plan?"

Splinter sighed. "A plan is only as good as the trust the rest of the team members have in it. A leader isn't supposed to come up with a good plan. A leader is supposed to come up with a plan that the people he leads can trust in."

"Yeah, but what if no one agrees?"

"Then a leader learns to lead the people, not the plan. Part of being a leader is inspiring others to work together. That includes learning to help others compromise. And especially learning how to be flexible, yourself."

It was as if Leonardo were hearing it for the first time. It took almost getting his brothers and himself killed, but he was finally hearing his sensei, and understanding what the old rat meant.

Master Splinter stood. "You have the natural ability to lead. That is why I have chosen you as the leader. You each have your own roles to fill."

He began speaking to all of his sons, although the other three had been eavesdropping on most of the conversation anyway. "Once you know what your roll is, and start functioning within your roll, then you will be able to work well together _as a group._ And, from what I can tell of this game, if you don't work together as a group…" he let the last part of the sentence dangle in the air.

Each turtle mentally finished his sentence for him.

_You may not survive…_

Eventually, once they had finished every scrap of food that had been inside Master Splinter's pack—which had been no small amount—they all gathered around the innocent, silent game board.

_Jumanji_.

Splinter turned to Leonardo. "Now, my son, be the leader."

Leonardo nodded, and looked around at his brothers. They had heard what Splinter had said. Leonardo was the leader.

Splinter watched as his sons opened the wooden, hand-carved box, which hinged outward to reveal the ominous black orb in the center of the white-tiled game spaces.

Everyone looked at Leonardo.

Leonardo tried to recall which piece was for whom. "Okay, so Mikey had the white rhino, and Raph was the black monkey, and since elephants never forget, that would be Donnie, and that leaves me with the black horse."

The white rhino had been the bottom right hand corner, and following clockwise was the monkey, then the horse, and then the elephant.

"Well, if we go clockwise, I guess that means that Raph's next." Leonardo said.

He waited for anyone to argue. No one did.

_That's a first…_ he thought.

"Okay, so then…" Raph said, picking up the yellowing dice. "Here goes nothin'."


	6. Survival Instinct

_**~Chapter Five: Survival Instincts~**_

Raphael hated ever showing his brothers what was on the inside. Be it fear, anxiety, tender love, or whatever, all those "signs of weakness" were well-hidden under a crusty exterior of anger and toughness. This was why when Raphael began to shake the dice and feel his heart pumping and his hands shaking, he growled and tossed the dice forcefully.

The five of them held their breath as they watched as the yellowing deciders of the future came to rest with a pair of snake-eyes. The black monkey moved and came to rest at two squares into the carved wooden path, and subsequently the vaporous words began swirling around in the black glass orb once again.

In a matter of a couple of seconds, the swirly words firmed themselves up, and Raphael began to read: "Dog eat dog, man eat man, lose a turn, escape if you can."

A shiver crawled its way up Raphael's spine, and he looked up at Master Splinter. "Man eat man? What does that mean?"

A slight whooshing noise past the end of Master Splinter's quivering nose was the only warning that any of the group heard, before they saw Raphael slap something at his neck, and pull a long, pointed wooden dart away with his hand. He looked at Master Splinter, his hand shaking, his eyes wide—as were the eyes of every single one of his brothers. He managed to squeak out "Master… Splinter…?" before his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed to the ground.

"RAPH!" Cried his three brothers.

Master Splinter moved to catch the heaviest of the four turtles, but his eyes were swiftly scanning the area. He caught the poor red-banded one by the wrist, and hauled him up over his back, and motioned for the rest of them to follow him into the shadows. They were exposed, and something was after them. Drums suddenly echoed off of the hard surfaces of the tunnels through which they fled, startling them, and adding speed to their flight. They were scared witless about what it was that could possibly be following them.

Donatello's mind was racing as fast as his feet. Drums. Darts. Man eat man. He wasn't sure, but he had a horrible hunch about what—or more accurately WHOM—it was that followed them.

Leonardo had learned his lesson. He'd gathered up the game, making sure that the dice were inside before closing the lid, before he'd made a run for it, following behind everyone. As they ran they heard more whooshing sounds as other darts flew by them, narrowly missing their targets.

They heard voices. _Human _voices! They were making loud yips and trills, and they sounded ANGRY.

Michelangelo was running so fast he had to force himself to slow down to keep from getting ahead of Splinter, and separated from the group.

Master Splinter led them into a side-tunnel, and then up into a ladder shaft, breaking any possible line of sight their pursuers might have on them, and giving them a way to make themselves invisible, as he'd been training them to do. They stayed silent, however Michelangelo every once in a while had to hold in a whimper every time his wild imagination made a shadow on the wall move. The drums and human voices began to fade into the distance.

Soon, Master Splinter felt that they could stop, after having paused to listen with his incredible ears. Master Splinter could hear far better than the four young turtles could, not just a learned ninja skill, but also a trait inherited by his rodent side, mutated as he was. Master Splinter was satisfied that no one had been able to follow them with the path they had taken and the speed of their flight.

However, the drums in the distance never stopped. They made an agitated sound that sent shivers down his spine.

"My sons, are you all right?" He questioned, turning to examine them, even as he began to lay Raphael gently onto the hard stone floor.

They huffed and puffed from their run but were unharmed. They nodded, and they gathered around their brother's still form.

"What happened to him?" questioned Michelangelo.

"My guess," Donatello quipped, "Is that the chemical on the dart made him go into a deep sleep. Or…" he faded out, not wanting to say out loud what _else_ the chemical could have caused to happen to Raphael.

Leonardo looked at his red-masked brother. "Why isn't he breathing?"

Master Splinter already had noticed the lack of rise and fall in his son's chest. He had his ear pressed against his son in an instant. His eyebrows furrowed.

Michelangelo felt a skip in his heartbeat. "What Master Splinter? What is it? Oh man, Raph's dead isn't he? What are we gonna do! He _can't_ be dead! I still haven't pulled my best prank I've been saving up for him yet! I—"

"Michelangelo, please!" Master Splinter scolded, "Calm down."

With that same alarming look of consternation on his face, Master Splinter sat up, and put a hand above Raphael's mouth.

That's when Donatello and Leonardo both experienced the same heart-stopping jolt of panic. Donatello's brain was going a mile a minute, and he unintentionally burst out, "You mean, it really _was_ poison? Raph's dead?!"

Michelangelo and Leonardo's head both swiveled around to look at him with a horrified expression on both of their faces. Then they looked back to Master Splinter, who had moved his ears back to his son's chest once again.

He looked up at them without moving his ear. "My sons, quiet." He commanded at a whisper.

The three of them zipped their lips, hovering above Master Splinter and Raphael on the floor, hardly daring to breathe.

Soon, Master Splinter let out a great heaving sigh. "He is alive. But barely. His heart is beating very faintly, as is his breathing."

The three young turtles surrounding Raphael and Master Splinter released their breaths, relief flooding through their limbs. They still felt a little twinge of worry for their brother. Donatello voiced their concerns aloud.

"Master Splinter, if he's barely breathing, then wouldn't it be dangerous for us to move him? Wouldn't that put too much of a strain on his body?"

Master Splinter shook his head, and said, "I am not certain, Donatello. But we cannot remain here for long. We can't allow ourselves to suffer the same fate as Raphael." He listened as the drumming started to grow slightly. Whatever it was following them must be getting closer.

Leonardo stepped in. "How long do you think he'll be like that?"

Michelangelo answered matter-of-factly, "Until we've each had a turn again."

They all turned to look at him, questioningly.

He ducked, unsure of himself again. "What? That's what the game said. 'Lose one turn.' He rolled doubles, so he'll lose the extra turn, and…" He stopped talking to think for a moment, and then added. "And I think that what just came out of the game is a tribe of cannibals."

"Cannibals?" Master Splinter raised a furry eyebrow..

Donatello—having been working it out in his head all along-nodded in agreement. "I think Mikey's right."

Leonardo shuddered.

Michelangelo put a fist under his chin, "So, why are they chasing _us_? We're not human, they wouldn't want to have _us_ for dinner, would they?"

Donatello spoke up, "Actually, if they are like any of the indigenous tribes in the Amazon, they would eat other things too… turtles being on that menu."

Michelangelo stared at his purple-banded brother. "You're kidding, right? Tell me your kidding!"

Abruptly the sound of distant drumming began to echo more loudly through the tunnels of the sewers, causing all of the mutants—well, the ones that weren't currently unconscious that is—to jump. The sound reminded them of the menacing presence lurking who knew where, just waiting for the chance to spring on them again.

Leonardo subconsciously reached for his katana, only to find that they weren't where he normally kept them. He groped for them for a second, giving up when he realized that they were back at the lair. He felt naked. "Man, I wish I had my katana."

Luckily Master Splinter was thinking the very same thing. He knew that his sons were going to need protection, and every little bit counted. They were becoming quite proficient with their weapons, at any rate, and would offer much resistance to any attacking enemy. The master in him wanted his sons to come with him, because it would be good for them to have a real reason to practice the art of invisibility. The father in him thought, however, that it would be safer for his sons to stay in one spot, while he quickly retrieved their weapons.

The angry drums in the distance growing closer and closer helped the old rat to make up his mind. They couldn't afford to spend one second separated. Master Splinter although skeptical at first, could not disbelieve now. It was this game that somehow brought to life these nightmarish consequences. How could he leave his sons by themselves while he retrieved their weapons when who knew what other sorts of monstrosities would attack during his absence?

"My sons, we must stay together. We will go to the lair and gather your weapons."

The three conscious turtles nodded their consent. Michelangelo nearly wet himself with Raphael's turn, and he definitely wanted his 'chucks. He didn't really feel safe without them—in fact, his tail was in danger of falling off from all the shaking and shivering he was doing. It would feel good to be back in the lair again, with Master Splinter, and surrounded by the walls that he'd learned were safe and secure his whole life.

They set out, Raphael hanging limply from Master Splinter's furry, yet kimono-covered shoulders. Leonardo continued to be the bearer of the game. Donatello marched behind Master Splinter, keeping an eye on his heavy red-banded brother. He hoped that being lifted around like that wouldn't cause his brother problems. As tough as his brother was, Donatello knew too well that Raphael really was in a fragile state right now.

It didn't take much time to return to the lair, Master Splinter having memorized these tunnels years ago, and knowing the shortest, safest routes. The constant drumming in the distance faded somewhat, and served as a threatening reminder of the danger that lay in wait.

The turtles wordlessly grabbed up their weapons, and placed them in their proper spot, hanging in belts and within sheathes. Splinter placed Raphael's weapons on him, after having placed him gently upon their well-loved and worn couch. The first sign of life that he showed since he'd been struck was the slight intake of breath as he was laid comfortably on the couch. Master Splinter felt a short wave of relief wash over him, hoping that his son would recover unscathed from this.

The three other turtles gathered around the rat and the unconscious turtle, Leonardo holding the game in his arms.

Donatello spoke up. "Well, if Raph is going to be like this until we play, then we'd better get playing."

Leonardo set the game down on the coffee table that lay right next to the couch, and unfolded the cupboard doors. The black orb in the middle gleamed wickedly, almost seeming to have a malicious, excited intent. Michelangelo shivered.

_Meanie,_ he thought, _it's just waiting to get us with something even worse than before!_

Donatello looked at the game pieces. "I guess I'm next." He gulped. Grabbing up the dice, he shook his arms.

At that moment, Master Splinter grabbed Donatello's wrist. "Wait," he said, his whiskers quivering.

Donatello looked up at his father with inquisitive eyes.

Master Splinter stayed silent a moment. Truthfully, he was a traditional soul, and he felt it somewhat objectionable to allow this evil to desecrate the sanctity of their home. After a moment, Master Splinter sighed, and said, "I feel uncomfortable with this… this game inside our home. I do not believe that we should allow it to be played in here. We should continue this outside the lair."

The three conscious turtles looked at each other. The unconscious one grunted slightly. Donatello voiced their unspoken concern. "But Master Splinter, we shouldn't move Raph again. And we don't want to leave Raph behind."

Master Splinter looked at his level-headed and quick-thinking son, and furrowed his bushy eyebrows. "I don't believe that moving Raphael would damage him any further. We've already come a long way—running no less. Would that not have killed him by now? I think perhaps that if Raphael is supposed to be a player, the game cannot allow one of the consequences to kill him." He looked at the other two, "We cannot tell for certain what might come out of that game. The damage done to our home could be irreparable. Would you want giant snakes, for instance, to turn our home into _their _home?"

Leonardo looked at Donatello, then looked at his sensei and said, "Yeah, but Sensei, how can you be sure. What if you're wrong?"

Donatello mentioned, "I swear if I had been strangled by that snake for a second longer, I _would_ have died."

Michelangelo, silent until now pitched in, "This game is mean. I think if we played chicken with it, we'd lose."

Raph softly let out another quiet moan, almost in agreement. The sound did not escape the excellent hearing of his father.

The aged rat looked at the three sons. Of the four, the one most likely to disagree with the group was unconscious. He had never seen them so unified before. He felt a strong sense of fatherly pride well up inside. They bickered, and quarreled, and disagreed with each other—sometimes just for the pleasure of disagreeing. It was heartening to see that in cases where their teamwork was the most important, they could set aside their differences, and in no small measure, their childishness. He also felt a twinge of sadness. His boys were growing up more quickly than he had been expecting. Already they formed sound arguments, and they found enough sense of self to be able to disagree with his authority. Suddenly he felt the strong desire to help this independence grow and develop. He took off his "Father" hat, and quickly put on his "sensei" hat.

He looked to Leonardo. "All right, my sons, there is logic to your argument. I don't want to harm Raphael either. But you, Leonardo, must decide if you are willing to allow this game to invade our home, or take the chance that Raphael could survive another move."

Leonardo looked up at his Master. "Me?" He squeaked. "Why me? Aren't you going to tell us what you want us to do?"

Master Splinter smiled craftily. "My son, you are the leader today, remember. You must come up with a plan that your teammates can follow. Including me."

Leonardo's jaw dropped nearly to the floor. He was nervous, and felt the weight of his decision heavily on his shoulders. He was stunned that Master Splinter was handing the baton of the decision-making to him. What if he chose the wrong thing? He was only twelve for crying out loud! Master Splinter was far wiser than he. What if they did move Raphael, and he died? What if they stayed and never were able to come home again, because the game destroyed it? What if… what if…

He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Michelangelo.

"C'mon bro. You can do it."

Leonardo gulped, nodding his thanks to his orange-banded brother's encouragement and looked up into Master Splinter's eyes. "I think we should stay here. I don't want to have to move Raph again." He questioned Master Splinter silently for his approval.

Master Splinter mercilessly stayed quiet, and looked toward the other two.

Donatello nodded.

Michelangelo let go of Leonardo's shoulder, and said, "I'm with ya, bro."

Leonardo turned to the spry rat. "Master Splinter?"

"My son," the master of ninjitsu said, "If you have made the decision, then you must stick to it. Do not allow yourself to be swayed by outside influences. There is nothing more dangerous than an indecisive leader."

Leonardo nodded, and squared up his shoulders. "We will stay in the lair, and continue the game."

Everyone, including Master Splinter, nodded.

Donatello—still with the evil game's dice in his hands—gulped a little, and took a deep breath. "Okay… here goes nothing."

The mutants all subconsciously held their breaths as the dice fell from Donatello's hand and landed on the carved wooden board game. A one and a six. His black elephant moved the seven spaces in slow succession, and then came to a rest. The gleaming black orb in the center sprang to life, the creepy yellow smoke swirling into readable letters.

Donatello read, "Beware the ground so full of ire, spewing forth brimstone and fire."

Michelangelo frowned. "That can't be good."

For a moment, the entire lair was silent. The turtles and the rat anxiously began looking around, waiting for that proverbial 'other shoe' to drop.

After a good ten seconds, Leonardo spoke up. "Do you guys smell something?"

Master Splinter had begun to smell something sulfur-ish in the lair along with Leonardo, and that feeling of impending doom began to invade the pit of his stomach again. Michelangelo had time to clamp a hand down over his nose, before there came an ominous rumbling to each of their ears.

"What's dat cubig frub?" Michelangelo queried, still refusing to breathe through his nose.

"Over there!" Leonardo pointed to the center of their dojo, "Look!"

It didn't take long for the other three mutants to notice what Leonardo had spotted. There was a mound growing in their dojo, the ground actually cracking and groaning as more and more of the floor pressed upward toward the sky. Earth began spilling up and out of the top of the mound.

"Uh guys, I know exactly what that means, and we've gotta move!" Donatello shouted, throwing the cupboard doors close, and tossing the game to Leo.

The mound grew skyward, growing not only in height but in diameter, the rumbling sound becoming almost deafening.

The others needed no more encouragement than that, and they quickly skittered across the floor of the lair. Michelangelo had taken hold of Raphael, his adrenaline kicking in and giving him more than the strength he needed to hoist his heavy and unconscious brother over his shoulder, and running for the nearest safe spot—somewhere high. Master Splinter moved ahead toward the exit that not only would lead away from the mound, but also lead to higher ground—unfortunately Donatello and Leonardo hadn't seen where their Sensei had moved to, and they headed in a different direction. They all ran for safety, however, they were not fast enough. The dirt mound grew to an impossible height, and then—almost literally—all hell broke loose. The dirt mound erupted with bright, fiery, golden lava, which splattered throughout the lair. They dodged the flying volcanic emission deftly enough—Michelangelo with Raphael having taken refuge on an overhanging pipe, Leonardo and Donatello jumping behind one of the stone pillars, Master Splinter in the exit, not being in reach; however, once the initial blast of lava burst into the lair, a steady stream began to melt and ooze down the side of the dirt mound and began pouring into the lair. Donatello and Leonardo had been separated into a corner of the lair, while Raphael and Michelangelo were stuck in the piping on the ceiling. Master Splinter stood by the exit and began assessing the situation, formulating a plan to rescue his trapped sons.

The turtles weren't the only problem. To Michelangelo's dismay, the TV that Donatello had managed to bring back to life melted into a blistering death as the flow of lava scorched and melted everything they held precious in the lair. The turtles watched as the lava seeped its way to their room, creeping in like a hideous and quite terrifying monster to destroy their toys and their beds, their blankets and their games. It creeped throughout the lair, destroying everything it touched. Blazing hot air pelted them in the face, and made it very hard to breathe.

Leonardo and Donatello were terrified. They had possibly a minute before they would be overtaken by the flowing lava.

Then it happened: for Leonardo it was as though he were seeing it in slow motion. Just as Master Splinter seemed about to jump into the fray, he stiffened, and then fell to the floor.

"Master Splinter!" the turtles called to their sensei.

Master Splinter did not respond.

Leonardo and Donatello looked at each other, slowly backing into their corner of the lair to avoid the lava.

Michelangelo had begun to look for ways to get both Raphael and himself to safety, and he hadn't seen when the rat had fallen, but he being the closer one, when he did notice that his sensei was unconscious on the ground, he also saw the small sprig of wooden dart sticking out of his sensei's neck, which would have been too small for Leonardo and Donatello to see.

"Splinter!" He called out, and turned to his brothers, "Guys it's the c—"

His call of warning was interrupted by shrill sounds of tribal voices, and in an instant Master Splinter was surrounded by humans—extremely short humans with black skin, white decorative paint covering their bodies, loincloths, and spears. Before the turtles' large and disbelieving eyes they scooped up the fallen rat, and vanished from sight.

None of the turtles made a sound, not one, their eyes registering something that their twelve-year-old minds were unable to process. They were in shock.

But not for long.

The searing heat in their lungs brought them all back to reality. Michelangelo began to feel like a turtle on a spit, and if it weren't for the cool water running through the pipes along the ceiling of the lair upon which he evaded the lava, he and Raphael—who Michelangelo still had resting on his back—would have been burned severely by the ever-rising temperature of the metal. Donatello and Leonardo had their backs pressed tightly against the wall, the lava closing the distance. Donatello guessed that they had less than a minute before they turned into lava turtles. The heat emanating from the lava hurt the front of his legs. He turned to Leo, "Any ideas?"

The red-banded leader closed his eyes, panic streaming across his face. Then abruptly he opened his eyes wide and turned to Donatello.

"The game, Donnie! It's my turn! Give me the dice!"

"What? Are you kidding, what if something even worse comes out of the game?!"

"Worse than lava, Don?!"

It was a gut reaction—something which the brainy turtle tended to avoid in the same way he avoided Leonardo's cooking—but it was as though his panic had taken over his brain. He swiftly opened up the game board, grabbed up the dice, and let them fall into Leonardo's hands—who then let them drop to the floor beneath his feet. An eleven. The black carved horse began to make its agonizingly slow journey to its appropriate space, and came to a rest. It almost seemed as though the world stood still for the yellow smoke to conjure the words to the next consequence, and for a second it appeared to Donatello as though someone had pressed pause on the world as these words shimmered into existence.

Leonardo read aloud, "There is a lesson you will learn; sometimes you must go back a turn."

The heat vanished at once. Leonardo unscrinched his eyes and looked around. The lava had hardened in the blink of an eye, and although it had melted nearly everything in sight, it had hardened into great flows of rock, black and benign. Michelangelo let out a huge sigh of relief, jumped down from the pipes he had been stuck on with Raphael in tow—the heavy turtle having begun to drool on the back of the orange-banded brother's neck—and he gently placed his brother on the hardened lava which covered what used to be the floor of the lair. Raphael let in a sharp breath, and went silent once again. Michelangelo turned to Donatello, and after taking one look at him, stood stock still.

The brainy brother's eyes were opened wide in what was clearly shock. He looked like he could hardly breathe, and he stared into open nothingness. Michelangelo waved a hand in front of his brother's face, but received no respons Leonardo stretched a hand out to his brother, and he gripped his brother's shoulder.

The open eyes turned to the blue-banded turtle, filled with panic and disbelief. A roiling sea of thought and emotion boiled at light speed behind those eyes. He was the logical one, after all, and born with a desperate need to make sense of the world, to categorize and label it. This one game had come in with an iron fist to turn his world upside down and sideways. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, and couldn't think. He found himself dependent on that which made sense. Master Splinter had been kidnapped, the one person that he could lean on to help him make sense of things…

"Donnie?" Leonardo tried.

"I don't understand…" his brother whispered.

"What?"

For a second those large eyes held firm on Leonardo. The suddenly Donatello shut them.

"It doesn't make any sense!" He exploded, "None of it. Not one thing of it! The lava was less than a foot away from us. Our flesh should have burst into flames from the heat. We should have all died just now! Raphael should be dead twice over! It doesn't make sense how any of this should be happening, it's just a stupid board game!"

"But Donnie—" Leonardo tried.

Donatello rounded on him. "How did you know that rolling the dice for another evil consequence was going to help anything? How could you have known? How could you have taken that risk? And for that matter, how did the lava suddenly get cold? How is any of this happening? And Master Splinter—!" He choked and was unable to continue verbally unloading the stress he'd been saving up throughout the whole ordeal, and so he fell into the corner behind him, and sobbed.

"I just don't understand."


	7. A Ninja's Logic

_Author's Note: Again, this did not take me nearly as long. Thank you for your patience. I have been looking for a beta to help me with this story. If anyone is interested, PM me. :)  
_

_**~Chapter Six: A Ninja's Logic~**_

Leonardo and Michelangelo were perplexed. They had never seen Donatello break down like this before. Although, they'd never started playing a magical game where your consequences came to life either. They never fully understood their brother's need to understand the world, and how much it shook him when things didn't make sense.

Leonardo thought, _why isn't this effecting me as badly?_ Well, one thing was for sure. Leonardo did not need the world to be orderly for him to be able to function within it. Two, in a way, everything did make sense. It simply required an explanation that defied logic. Magic. Some sort of mysterious magic brought all these things to life. That's how he coped with everything. Also, now Leonardo had a mission: to find Master Splinter, rescue him if possible, finish the game, and then throw the game into a deep dark pit—somewhere it would never be found again. But he needed all his brothers to be able to do these things. Which meant he had to somehow help Donatello overcome whatever was eating at him.

He knelt down next to his brother, and said, "C'mon Donnie. It's okay. It doesn't have to make sense, we just have to hang on through it to make it all go away."

Donatello scrubbed at his eyes with his fists, and took a deep breath. "I-I know L-Leo. I just—" he was hiccupping too much to speak very coherently. He took another deep breath, and gulped a couple of times. "It's just that Master Splinter was just kidnapped, and he was the one that made it okay for it to not make sense." He blew out a slow steady stream of air, and then hiccupped once. "I'm not very good at working with things that don't make sense."

Michelangelo stepped in, "That's why you've got _us, _bro."

Leonardo nodded, "That's right. Michelangelo _never_ makes sense!"

"Hey!" The orange-banded brother protested.

Donatello grinned shakily for a moment, and then frowned. "But I just don't understand anything. How did you know that rolling the dice again would help?"

Leonardo shrugged. "I didn't."

"Then why did you do it?"

"It felt right."

Donatello gave the blue-banded leader a strange look. "It felt right?"

Nodding, Leonardo explained, "Yeah, Don. There wasn't anything else we could do. We were trapped and about to be killed. The only thing that there was left to do was to roll the dice. I figured that it was better to try something than nothing. So I rolled."

Donatello stared at his brother. _Okay,_ he thought, _that makes sense._ Slowly, he could feel the clamp of panic start to let up. It made sense, what Leo did, and that's what he needed: for things to make sense. He looked at Michelangelo, wishing that he could just accept everything as readily as his orange-banded brother did. But he couldn't. His brain didn't function that way, it seemed. Michelangelo rolled with the punches. Donatello had to analyze the punch, assess its trajectory, predict the force, estimate the damage, and determine the following course of action.

The fact was, all of this—the game and it's seriously scary consequences—all operated on one assumption: that magic was real. And Donatello didn't believe in magic. There was nothing he had seen in the real world up to this point in his life that would suggest that magic was real. Whatever was happening had to be functioning on some law of physics that the young turtle didn't know about yet, and Donatello felt a sudden determination to figure out what it was.

Leonardo, sensing the calm in Donatello, stood up and began to pace, voicing his thoughts out loud. "Master Splinter has just been kidnapped by cannibals. We need to get him back. But I don't know if we can do that without Raph." He looked at his brother's silent form on the hardened lava rock at his feet. He shook his head. "If we are ever going to wake up Raph, we _have_ to roll again." He looked pointedly at Michelangelo. It was his turn.

Looking at the evil game board on the floor next to Donatello's feet, Michelangelo gulped and said, "Ho boy." Not for the first time he wished that he hadn't been so excited to play the game. He knelt next to the game and picked up the old yellow dice. They were heavy in his hands. He looked at Raphael and swallowed a few times; his throat had gone dry.

Steeling up his resolve, he drew a breath, shook the dice, and let them fall from his hands. They bounced and clattered around on the wooden game board, and then came to rest. A three and a five. The three young turtles unconsciously leaned in toward the game with bated breath.

The yellow words swirled around the orb, and then stilled, floating in the ethereal abyss of blackness behind them.

Michelangelo read, "Water water everywhere, and far too much to drink."

Donatello jumped to his feet. "I don't like the sound of that."

"Neither do I!" Both Leonardo and Michelangelo yelled.

A roaring sound began to fill the lava-encrusted lair. Without even needing to speak to one another, the turtles sprang into action. Michelangelo grabbed up his brother, tossing an arm over his shoulder. Leonardo slammed the lid shut on the game and tucked it under his arm like a football jockey. Donatello's eyes were scanning the area, and he saw something on the other side of the lair where Master Splinter had disappeared: a ladder made up of a set of rungs built into the cement which led to a tunnel above.

"Follow me!" he cried.

The three of them, with the fourth in tow, hastened their way to the stairs, the roaring growing louder and louder. It sounded to Michelangelo as though there was a whole army of monsters behind them, really scary ones with large mouths full of sharp pointy teeth. His feet flew underneath him, racing after Donatello, and he could hardly feel the weight of Raphael on his shoulder.

Donatello knew what was coming; as they headed toward the ladder leading upward, it became clear that they didn't have enough time for all four of them to climb to safety. The roaring grew ever louder. Finally in an explosion of white spray at the other end of the lair, the beast finally showed itself: a rushing river of white water. Donatello was on the ladder already heading upward, and Michelangelo had one hand on the nearest rung by the time the water overtook them. Leonardo in a flash grabbed Michelangelo's torso, and Michelangelo in turn hooked an elbow around the rung he had grabbed, and squeezed Raphael against his chest. The water hit the three of them with the power of a freight train. It nearly ripped Michelangelo clean away from his arm, and it pummeled Leonardo into half-consciousness. Raphael still remained in Michelangelo's grip, but just barely. Donatello fared better, only half being in the onslaught, although he nearly lost his grip on the rungs. He looked down to see that all three of his brothers were clinging for dear life on the ladder, and that they were all submerged beneath the water. He felt the water pelting at him, the invisible fingers intent on ripping him away from the ladder. He made a desperate attempt to move down a rung closer to his brothers so that he might pull them up, but as soon as he had relinquished his footing on the ladder, the swift water pulled his entire torso away from the ladder, and he had to hold on for dear life with outstretched arms. He coughed and spluttered as the water began pouring itself down his throat. There wasn't much he could do.

Michelangelo had never been much good at power-lifting. He'd always left that to Raphael. Besides, it had been much easier just to be faster. But now he found himself wishing that he had lifted a few more weights. Raphael was slipping from his one-arm grasp, and his other arm was burning with the exertion of supporting not just himself but two other turtles. He couldn't take a breath, and his muscles were crying for oxygen, despite the fact that he was a turtle and could hold his breath for quite a bit of time. The added strain drained his oxygen reserve. He didn't know how much longer he could last. But he knew that he just couldn't let go.

Leonardo still gripped Michelangelo's waist, and felt as though he'd been crushed by a brick wall. He knew that it was only Michelangelo's grip on the ladder that was keeping him from being swept away into the raging river that had suddenly appeared. He'd stuck the gameboard between him and his brother to whom he so desperately clung. He was beginning to feel frantic for air, and he knew that Michelangelo had to be feeling the exact same way.

Slowly, Leonardo pulled from his core all of the strength that he possessed, and attempted to move. He shifted the game board so that he could squeeze it beneath his arm, and he began to slowly drag himself up the torso of his brother. After an eternity, his hand came into contact with the rung of the ladder upon which Michelangelo had attached himself.

By this time, Donatello and finally pulled his feet beneath him again, and he'd moved down a few rungs so that just his head was above water. He'd laced his feet into the space between the wall and the rungs of the ladder, and he knew that the water wouldn't be able to pull him away from the wall once he'd let go with his hands. He took a gulp of air, and then dove beneath the water, and he latched onto Leonardo's wrist, just as his blue-banded brother reached the ladder. He swiftly helped Leonardo up. As Leonardo's head broke the water, the air-deprived turtle gasped, and took several deep breaths as he climbed the ladder to make room for the remainder of his brothers.

Donatello grabbed Raphael next, the red-banded turtle still unconscious. Tugging on Raphael's wrist, Donatello pulled the limp turtle out of Michelangelo's arms, and handed him up to Leonardo, who was waiting above. Quickly, Donatello followed Raphael, to allow Michelangelo to come up as well. Freed from Raphael, Michelangelo quickly and desperately pulled himself above the level of the water. He gasped and took in several deep breaths of air before he felt comfortable enough to continue moving up the ladder. Leonardo had already made it into the upper tunnel—which was closer to the streets of the city, and therefore was mucked up with more garbage and filth than the tunnels below it; it stank. The blue-banded leader had laid Raphael on a small cement pathway off to the side, so as not to completely immerse the poor turtle in the refuse of the sewer tunnel. Donatello hauled himself into the tunnel, and then leaned over, grasped Michelangelo's wrist, and pulled the turtle up. The two of them fell into a heap next to Leonardo and Raphael, and they all huffed and puffed, catching their breaths for a moment.

After Michelangelo's head stopped spinning, and his muscles burned just a little bit less, he said, "I'm thirsty."

Leonardo and Donatello looked at him. "You're thirsty?"

Nodding, Michelangelo said, "Yeah, that's right. I don't think we had enough water back there, do you?"

Leonardo gave his brother a half-grin. "Don't jinx us." He warned.

Groaning, Donatello said, "I don't think I will be thirsty again for at least another decade." His belly felt uncomfortably full of water.

"Naw, dudes," Michelangelo insisted, "That was only a _little_ bit of water."

Shaking his head—feeling grateful for Michelangelo's humor to lighten the mood—Donatello turned to Raphael. The red-banded brother looked about as waterlogged as the rest of them. He leaned down and put his ear on his brother's plastron. He could hear the beat of his heart; it seemed to have gotten stronger. He recalled how Sensei hadn't been able to hear the beat unless everything was absolutely silent. Also, there was a visible rise and fall of his chest. Could that mean that Raphael was merely sleeping, and not in a drugged-out unconscious state now?

Turning to Leonardo, the purple-banded turtle asked, "You think he'll wake up on his own, or do we have to snap him out of it?"

Leonardo thought for a moment. "Maybe we have to snap him out of it…"

"You'd think the water woulda woken him up." That was Michelangelo, now sitting up, his arms wrapped around his knees.

"Yeah, you'd think…" Donatello agreed. He nudged Raphael. "Hey Raph." He tried.

No response.

"Yo, Raphie-boy!" Michelangelo shouted, leaning over and poking the unconscious turtle's muscle-bound shoulder.

Still nothing.

Standing up, Michelangelo positioned himself at Raphael's feet, his hands on his hips. He began kicking Raphael's feet, saying, "We have had to drag your sorry butt—" _kick,_ "from here to China and back—" _kick, _"And we don't want—" _kick,_ "to drag you—" _double kick_, "anymore!"

A groan came from the red-banded turtle.

"Oh good," Donatello breathed in relief, "He's waking up."

"That's right," Michelangelo kicked again, "No more freeloading!"

Raphael's eyes opened a thin crack, and he frowned, rolled over, and muttered something underneath his breath.

Leonardo leaned forward, "What was that, Raph?"

Raphael didn't respond.

"Oh no ya don't!" Michelangelo began clambering up beside his brother. "No falling back asleep." He latched onto Raphael's wrists, and pulled up.

The limp turtle grunted a moment—half of his body on the floor, and the other half being pulled up by his arms—and peeled open one eye. "Lemmealone…" the slurring voice said irritably

Leonardo stepped in mercifully, "Seriously Mikey, just let him wake up for a bit."

The orange banded one shrugged, and leaned his brother gently back down onto the cold concrete of the sewer footpath. He sat down next to the semi-conscious and irritated Raphael, and watched him. Raphael loved his sleep; it was hard to wake him up in the morning. He'd gotten good at tricking people into leaving him alone so that he could snatch a few more lazy moments in the bed. Well, not on _Mikey's_ watch! Not when he knew that the longer they delayed the worse off Master Splinter might be.

Although Michelangelo's tactics were rather rough, it turned out that Raphael probably wouldn't have woken up without them. Raphael's head swirled, and he found it difficult to register what anyone was saying. Their voices echoed around in his head, and when he opened up an eye, or both, his vision was blurry.

Although the difference between naturally having a tough time waking up and coming out of a drug-induced unconsciousness was slight, Donatello could tell that Raphael was having more of a struggle than he normally would have. For one, Raphael opened his eyes more than he normally would have—the turtle hardly opened his eyes for anything. He would usually just bat his assailant away with an arm, roll over, and pretend to sleep again. This time, Raphael's eyes fluttered open every few minutes. The other three turned cheerleaders for him.

"That's it Raph, now just keep 'em open," Michelangelo said.

"Just start wiggling your fingers and toes, that'll help." Leonardo advised.

"Deep breaths, get the oxygen moving in your system again." Donatello added.

"No, don't close your eyes again!"

"He can't help it Mikey. I mean, he was just _drugged_ for crying out loud."

"Great Don. Just go and enable him why don't you."

This continued for a good fifteen minutes or so, but eventually Raphael was able to sit up, see straight, hear straight, and talk straight.

"What happened?"

The other three looked at each other, and then began explaining all at once.

"Cannibals shot you—"

"There was lava everywhere—"

"They just dragged Master Splinter off somewhere—"

"And you've seriously got to lose some weight bro—"

"I think Mikey rolled a 'Niagra Falls' consequence—"

"We have to go rescue him—"

"Then Donatello freaked out—"

"Okay, _okay!_" Raphael said after the deluge of explanations, covering his ears with his hands. "One at a _time!_"

Michelangelo and Donatello looked at Leonardo.

Leonardo paused for a moment, and then began with, "Your consequence was a tribe of cannibals. They shot you with a poisoned dart. It made you sleep until just now."

"Don't forget the lava," Michelangelo poked Leonardo's arm.

Leonardo moved his arm away from his brother, "I was getting to that, Mikey!" Turning back to Raphael, he said, "We came back to the lair, got our weapons. Donatello rolled and got lava. It destroyed the lair." He paused, feeling uncertain about how to continue. "They—the cannibals—they got Master Splinter."

"What?!" Raphael bolted upright, on his feet in a split second. He immediately regretted it. His head whirled around and suddenly the floor went vertical, and he toppled over himself.

"Easy Raph," Donatello agreed with his arms crossed. "You really should be dead right now. Give yourself a few minutes to shake it off."

"I should have died?" Raphael asked incredulously.

"Yeah," Donatello explained, "The poison on the dart slowed your breathing and nearly stopped your heart. Then we moved you, and jostled you, and put your body under _more_ strain. That should have killed you. Then when I rolled, the game made lava appear, and you and Mikey were maybe seven feet directly above it. _That_ should have killed you both! Then Mikey's roll gave us the Amazon River traveling at about forty miles an hour. _We _had to hold our breath._ You_ were unconscious, and incapable of holding your breath. I don't know how it was that you didn't drown."

A pregnant pause settled over the group. Raphael was flabbergasted—he couldn't believe how much he had missed. Leonardo pondered, quietly looking at his hands.

Michelangelo was looking at Donatello. "You're not going to freak out again, are you?"

Rolling his eyes, Donatello said, "No, Mikey."

"You know, it's probably because the game does not want us to die." Leonardo surmised. "It comes_ extremely_ close to killing us, but we have to be able to finish the game so…"

Nodding, Donatello said, 'Well if that's true then Master Splinter probably will be okay. If the game doesn't kill anybody, then he'll be fine."

Visible relief rushed through the four brothers.

Michelangelo spoke up, "Yeah, but he would be okay anyway. It's _Master Splinter_ we're talking about here."

The other three nodded in complete agreement. Nothing could hurt Master Splinter. He was just invincible.

Raphael was on his feet, and although he still felt a little wobbly, he also felt very antsy to get going. His hands were on his sais and he began to walk.

In good humor, Michelangelo said, "I think Raph needs a few more minutes before he's ready to go."

Raphael turned to him with a frown. "Now. Let's go now. I ain't waitin'. Let's _go_."

Laughing, Leonardo slapped Raphael on the back. "Okay, Raph, okay."

They weren't exactly sure where to look. At first they just began walking. After a few moments, Raphael asked Leonardo, "Uh, Leo, where exactly _are_ we headed?"

"After Master Splinter, hopefully." Came the answer.

"Yeah, but where is that?" Michelangelo asked.

Leonardo kept walking but began to explain, "Well, after your roll brought out the giant monster snakes, they all decided to stay in that junction. I figured that maybe the cannibal's camp would be right where Raphael rolled."

Donatello halted in his tracks. "But that doesn't make any sense, Leo. It was just a tunnel. Where exactly do you think they'd set up camp? Besides, it's not exactly like they stayed there, is it? Who's to say that they didn't find something better while they chased us?"

Leonardo stopped, and turned to look at his suddenly very argumentative brother. "At least it gives us a starting point. What would you do? Search blindly? It's not like we can retrace our steps. I mean, we'd have to start back at the lair, and right now it's under a river."

Donatello crossed his arms, and said, "I know that, Leo. But if we go to the tunnel, and find nothing there, then what? Or if we get ambushed on our way to the tunnel?"

"Well, we can think of all the bad things that might possibly happen, or we can do something." Leonardo said, "I personally would rather do something." With that, he continued forward, intent on his goal.

Donatello turned to look at his other two brothers. They'd been silently observing the exchange. Michelangelo shrugged and said, "I'm with Leo on this one, bro."

Raphael nodded, "Me too."

The both of them moved to catch up with Leonardo.

"But it doesn't make sense…" Donatello muttered, as he fell in behind. He was frowning.


End file.
